#i must draw more scary stuff it’s the law | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mxpseudonym · 3 years ago

Text

I Can't Wait

Pairing: Luca Changretta x OC? (characterized reader)

Reader Gender Expression: she/her pronouns, mentions of bride to be

Summary: She’s pushed Luca a bit too far this time, and in return he hits a nerve

Length: 1800 words

Warnings: Couple fighting, one partner does yell

Request:

I only just woke up and your Luca Changretta fic was what I needed for morning fluff. 🥺❤️ Now, I do not know if requests are open, but if they are, could you give us a glimpse on Luca hurting the OC (possibly with that insecurity that she gives him a hard time) and her actually crying (because she doesn't seem like the type to hurt easily) and won't even defend herself because her dignity is hurt, so she starts immediately packing up her stuff, then Luca apologizes and tries to make amends?

A/N: I love this couple so freakin much!! Also, I realized when I was almost done with this that you probably wanted something a little more light hearted, but hopefully this is good as well! Also, in the last bit, I could visualize Luca so clearly I wish I could draw it.

It was a strange feeling watching Luca yell at her in anger. They were engaged, yet she was still her same self, not giving an inch more in the affection department. Unfortunately, wedding planning exacerbated their whole dynamic.

Luca's mother was just settling for tolerating her, but everything her future in-law said to her face, she knew Luca heard 10 times over behind closed doors. But the worst thing was her fear around just how much she loved and trusted him.

She'd grown up a scrappy in a home where warmth wasn't overflowing. Her parents had rough ways of showing affection: high expectations, strict rules, and catholic traditions. She still had faint scars on her knuckles from nuns at her grade school and emotional ones from spankings she got at home as a result. Acting out, talking back, being difficult had always been her way of dealing with things. Sure it got her smacked time and again when she was younger, but as an adult, it turned her into a dry-humored, smart-mouthed, and witty young woman with thick skin. Not many people liked that.

But Luca did.

Luca was very warm and persistent about extending it to her. He kissed her scars and simply laughed at her attempts to thwart how uncomfortable gentle, uncompromising love like that made her. And now, with this proposal, she was feeling it, uneasy pressure. Didn't anyone understand how scary this was for her? So she leaned back on old ways at times. They'd bicker, and she'd go a step too far, saying something that would make him sigh or get this look on his face like he'd been hit. Or the worst one is when she'd tease him with, "maybe I'm not the one then?" at the slightest disagreement, to which he always firmly told her not to even joke about. The more she got him to snap back, the more she got the kind of love she was used to until they ended up here.

She didn't want to get rid of the big, lovely apartment he'd gotten her, which was fine. But it was when he said he'd move in that she found herself protesting before she knew it. Her ego wanted to keep her walls up, and it jumped out of her mouth to protect her. But the idea of not even living with his own wife was the last straw. It started with him letting her know his mother had predicted this, which opened a can of worms about family, then the wedding, and finally their relationship in general.

And now Luca was yelling.

His arguments jabbed her and stung, but the worst part was that they were true. He did seem to love her more. He did seem to be doing the giving while she did the taking. He did do everything to make her happy. And she wasn't returning it at the same level. On and on until he asked it back: do you even want to marry me?

She was overwhelmed after that, unable to process his words, only able to watch his pained, reddening face twist into something she couldn't stand. How spoiled she must have been to get away with so much without ever pushing him over the edge like this before, she realized. How suffocating it must have been for him to be so patient. The thought alone was enough to turn her vision blurry.

"Are you even listening to me? I'm trying to te-" Luca choked on his words, nearly biting his own tongue when he noticed the first tear. The tears that continued to flow after that made his already racing heart begin to ache. Her trembling hands lifted to her checks as she attempted to wipe away the evidence of her crumbling walls.

"Fine, you're right. Fuck, you're always right about," she began but could only go on until her throat tightened with tears. It was all she could make out, and it was punctuated with a sniffle. She turned and walked to the bedroom with a lowered head, closing the door behind her.

Luca stared at the closed door, and it didn't take long before he could hear rummaging. In truth, he didn't really know what to do. Had he seen her cry before? Technically yes, but never like this. Not because she felt bad or was hurt. Hurt. Had he really hurt her? His legs finally moved until he reached the door and pushed it open. The sight of clothes being tossed into a large suitcase made him sigh. He approached quietly and placed a hand on her wrist, effectively stopping her from continuing her haphazard folding of expensive fabrics now dotted with stray tears that just kept coming. She pulled her wrist from him and sniffled again.

"You don't need to pity me. I know what it must be like to be with someone like me. I certainly wouldn't want to be. I don't even know why you would waste your time."

"Don't say that."

"Find someone more agreeable. Seriously, I'm not," she took in a shaky breath and an even shakier exhale. "I'm not worth-"

"Oi!" Luca swore loudly, making her turn to him in surprise. He grabbed her shoulders, turning her to him before firmly cupping her cheeks. "Nobody talks about you like that, not even you and especially not me."

"Luca,"

"You're upset that I told you about yourself, mm?" He asked. "And now you think because I'm angry with you that you're not the one for me, is that right?" He looked down at her expectantly until she nodded slowly, the ego in her just defeated enough to not give a prickly comeback and instead admit he was the person who could read her best. He raised a hand and pressed his pointer finger to the middle of her forehead. "Then that's just something up here being fussy about not getting what you wanted."

"No, I really am terrible to you," she insisted, nearly whining.

"You're just a brat, that's all." Luca shrugged. Not that she deserved it, but she did take a moment to wonder if this was supposed to make her feel better. "I'm gonna be honest, Blossom, you've been getting on my damn nerves lately. You've got a smart mouth, and you're defiant 'cause you can be. Ma's been giving me an earful. And then this whole thing with the apartment, you out of your fuckin' mind or what?"

"See!"

"So what? When have you ever been a meek, agreeable little thing with good ideas?" He asked a little too curiously for her liking. Her eye twitched, and she nearly snapped back about the ideas comment, but he continued. "Shouldn't have yelled at you, I admit that. I'm sorry, alright? I've been stressed with work and then all this wedding shit, but I don't like to see you cry, and I don't want to hurt you. I'll watch myself." He stroked her cheeks with the back of his hands.

"I'm sorry that I've been tough lately. I think about us and how much you love me, and I want to crawl out of my skin."

"Mmm, I've always wanted to hear that from the woman I love," Luca mused for a moment, and she clicked her tongue. He knew she was getting back to herself if she was in the mindset to do that.

"It's just because I'm scared. This isn't easy for me," She admitted.

"So you're ready to pack it up, just like that?" He motioned to the bag she was packing. "You're a lot of things, Blossom, but chicken?"

"Oh my god," she grumbled, turning from him as she was told the words she'd told him. His arms wrapped around her from behind.

"Don't ever pack up on me again, alright? As you said, we talk about it. Don't go deciding shit like that on your own. I love you."

"I love you, too."

"What was that?" He leaned around her to see her face. She could feel her cheeks get hot, only made worse by his Cheshire grin.

"I love you, too! And I'm sorry about trying to run. I guess you're a bad influence."

"There she is."

—

"I see you got her to see the error of her ways," Mrs. Changretta hummed smugly after hearing that Luca would be buying a family home after all. Luca chewed on his toothpick and looked out the window of the office.

"We'll keep the apartment too. I don't know what we'll do with it, but it'll be there."

"Luca, Luca, Luca, you can't let a vixen like that steamroll over you," his mother tsked. He didn't have to look at her face to sense the way she was frowning and grimacing at the thought of the woman he couldn't wait to marry. It was almost comical. "That day you said you met the woman you were going to marry, I asked you if she was aware of this. You remember what you said?"

In her defense, his mother probably thought she was guiding him to seeing the light. But the memory that he hadn't thought about in a while came back and made him chuckle, a fond smile on his face. His mother scoffed again, likely confused at why her son had never looked more in love.

"I said, I think she hates me, actually."

"And has anything changed? How is she supposed to be a doting wife when she's as hostile and divisive as they come."

"Ma," Luca turned to his mother for the first time in this conversation. "Blossom's probably most of the things you've said about her. But she's got a loving heart of glass, and she's as fragile as they come. If you lighten up, she'll probably give you her secret recipe for red velvet cake and put her life on the line to protect this family, and she'll do it all with an adorable little scowl on her face. Hell, she'll probably scold me when I'm on my death bed. But she'll be there, and she'd have made all my favorite foods." Luca looked up to the ceiling and grinned. "I can't wait."

Mrs. Changretta could have asked a hundred questions about why her son just divulged this to her, but part of her knew. Luca would be the head of the family when his father was out of the way, and by his side would be the woman he gave that saccharine pet name until the day he died in her arms. He was already making his way around the desk to kiss her cheek goodbye when his mother nodded in understanding. Luca's bride-to-be was here to stay whether Mrs. Changretta chose to enjoy herself or not.

#Luca Changretta #Luca Changretta x OC #Luca Changretta x Reader #Luca Changretta fic #Luca Changretta Imagine #Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders Imagine

461 notes · View notes

rueluxprince · 4 years ago

Text

Why Does Jin Guangyao Have So Many Goddamn Ships

This dude. I don’t know what is with him. He can be shipped with so many goddamn people, and you can find something in canon (show/novel/audio drama) to justify it. You like a specific trope? He’ll have a ship that gives it to you. (Lets extrapolate some from canon)

Qin Su/Jin Guangyao: Naive yet headstrong heiress trying to fight on the battlefield and contribute to the greater good. Bit off more than she could chew and was rescued by a gentle and quietly self-assured young man. Romance and comedy ensues as she vows to make him her husband! Flowers! Hijinks! Enlisting quirky handmaidens for advice! Jin Guangshan doesn’t exist in this one!

Lan Xichen/Jin Guangyao: hero saves the beauty, gay edition. Young bookkeeper wants to be worthy of noble young master’s esteem, works his ass off, puts himself in years of danger, finally climbs to the top and now must deal with the “is he or is he not” of romance in politics! Is he or is he not? He’s always at your house and gives you a free pass to his house and draws you exclusive paintings and only attends conferences hosted by you and trusts you completely! But he never says anything! Cue the yearning! The soft touches! Reminders of etiquette! Swooning into strong arms!

Jiang Cheng/Jin Guangyao: reluctant and accidental co-parents reluctantly and accidentally fall in love in the long years of raising a precocious nephew into adulthood. The kid turned out surprisingly okay, with a commendably hard moral backbone. One realizes it’s nice to have a perpetually angry grape ready to blow up in your defense. The other realizes someone closest to him is already fulfilling all his marriage requirements and he didn’t even know it! Domestic bliss! Cute kids! Internal struggles of sexuality! The italicized oh!

Nie Mingjue/Jin Guangyao: Noble and righteous leader recognizing and promoting downtrodden but talented beginner –> no good opinion forthcoming but still wants to care his own way older brother x turning down a dark path but still wants to go back the way things were younger brother –> So much resentment fierce corpse x unable to forget the guilt murderer –> they are buried together. Deteriorating relationship! Shakespearean tragedy! Ultimate darkness! Death! Eternity with each other!

(Honorable mention: 3zun - a wholesome ouroboros loop of death, mystery and found family)

Nie Huaisang/Jin Guangyao: you ever have that one childhood friend that takes care of you and indulges in your oddities and protects you with murderous looks and a scarred back even though he’s frailer than you are; and then that childhood friend murders your older brother but leaves you alive and still takes cares of you and spoils you and would drop everything to help you with a made up problem? And so you’re now left seething in rage because how dare he ruin you and love you all without pause?! Cue the revenge plots! Lies! Deceit! Best actor winners going toe to toe on the world’s biggest stage! Inner conflict! Angst! More conflicted plotting!

Mo Xuanyu->Jin Guangyao: You’re weak and a mess and constantly bullied and the only one in this huge and scary house that ever showed you kindness is your older half brother. He becomes a god in your eyes, all golden and brilliant and surrounded by equally golden and beautiful people you can never touch. But you still try despite everything because he’s the sun and he wanted you to thrive, and you’re just a little moth ramming head first into the flames. And when you’re scorched to the bone and everyone still keeps on trying to stomp you into ash and you finally decide to take revenge, you still can’t bring yourself to blame that splendid sun who were never yours in the first place. Resentments! Unrequited love! More angst! Inner courtyard intrigues! More tragedy! Poetic inner monologues!

Su She->Jin Guangyao: generous and focused ruler x dedicated and competent supporter. He gives you all the respect you need and you know in your soul you will die for him and you don’t care one whit about it. You protect his heart but you always stood one step behind. The position beside him is taken, often by a soft figure in golden silk, or an eminent figure in blue satin. Jealousy! Loud expressions of loyalty! Ego management! Pining and simping!

Xue Yang/Jin Guangyao - friends who murder together stays together. One causes wanton destruction and the other picks up after them. Not because he particularly cares that people are getting hurt but the cost analysis tells him it’s not worth the clean up. You pay for my shopping, I rip out the tongues of anyone that insults your mother. Lighthearted talks of murder! Scheming with friends! Lots of cursing! Dubious experiments! Lots of magical cursing! Friends with benefits!

Wen Ruohan/Meng Yao: local megalomanic tyrant sees this random ass kid all bloodied up and gleaming with spite and went “I would like to raise that one. I’ll give it a sword and I’ll teach him stuff and I won’t say I appreciate him but I will definitely save him from imminent danger.” And that kid acknowledges said tyrant as his teacher and tortures for him pretends to love him, all the while stealing his secrets and preparing to stab him in the back to win the war. Struggle! Trauma! Living in hardship! Double agent reminding themselves not to be conflicted! Psychological torture!

Wen Chao + Wen Xu: uhhhhhh, the canoodling with stepmom trope? Do we even go that far on tumblr? It’s a possibility I’ve considered for about two seconds and now I wish I could wash my brain out.

Jin Zixun~~Jin Guangyao: the “I know I’m slapping the me two years ago in the face with what I’m doing right now but it’s love so I don’t care” trope? All the Jins do this. The year before you were all “why are you always here you don’t belong here you bastard son” and now you’re all “wheres A-Yao he promised he would ambush this public menace with me owo?!??!!??” What a weakass motherfucker with weakass principles.

Honorable mentions:

Wei Wuxian + Jin Guangyao: best in law dynamics, potentially. Terrorizing the Cloud Recesses, eating lots of spicy food, hiding secrets in perfectly groomed hair, causing aneurysms in Lan Qiren, violating all the OH&S regulations Etc.

Lan Wangji + Jin Guangyao: best in law dynamics, actually. It’s a whole battle. Jin “I am physically incapable of seeing someone and not wanting to take care of it” Guang “yes I will be calling you Wangji and trying to give you stuff and show audible concern for your love life” Yao vs. Lan “I do not wish to know you I do not care for your seating arrangements do not ever invite me to your banquets again” Wang “just because you’re maybe dating my precious older brother does not mean I will not refute you to your face about my boyfriend at your banquet in front of said brother” Ji.

(And yes the last two are purely familial/platonic. And also everyone else? You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift is the most fitting theme song for half of them)

~more MDZS metas under #my thing# tag~

633 notes · View notes

totiredtowrite · 3 years ago

Text

The Court of the Badlands

↳[King Ciyan]

Warnings - None

Note: Who's gonna read this? no clue, have it anyways. Also I'll probably write x readers for these characters. I linked what he looks like in the name. (gonna draw new stuff for him later). Have a look at Ciyans character and tell me what you think byee

"At the dawn of ones life, everything is surely over."

An unsettling grin covered the new kings face, long limbs draped over his throne of crushed bones.

Bones from what, exactly, nobody could truly say.

The criminal before him shook uncontrollably with fear, their ragged breathing heard throughout the room. The only other noise was dripping water from outside, where the rain had just ended. The guards stood rigidly stiff, silent, and the king didn't seem to make a noise. He kept his eyes on the fugitive, though not like one could tell with the mop of grey and white hair covering his neon yellow eyes. The twisted blue wood- or bone- of his crown didn't glow in the dark light spilling through the windows.

When the tremors in the criminals body subsided, the king finally spoke. His voice didn't echo. "Would you like to tell me why you- a rat, if anything- was stealing from your king?" This launches the criminal into a shaking fit all over again. They opened their mouth, attempting to form the words. Nothing came out.

There was no question that Ciyan took great joy in watching criminals cower at his feet. No, it wasn't sadistic. He liked to think that he upheld the law in a wonderful, constructive way! The criminal sat still shaking, mouth dry and empty. Ciyan hummed, latching his long, clawed black fingers over the armrests of his throne. He stood up, shoulders dipping slightly as he straightened to his full height.

King Ciyan, all seven feet and two inches of him, strode over to stand in front of the criminal. He didn't kneel, never, instead waiting for them to crane their neck up at him. They reached their shackled hands up to muffle a scared noise from leaving their mouth, shuffling back a little bit. A mock frown overtook his face and he tilted his head to one of the two guards on duty.

"Come on, I'm not that scary, am I?"

The guard struggles for words before settling on a meek "No sir."

He smiled at her, in that weird, polite way he did, and snapped his fingers to the criminal and turning his back. "Take them away," he said, heavily plopping down in his throne, "I have no need for someone without a spine." The guard nodded wordlessly, sweeping forward with another sentry to guide them out of the room.

Ciyan huffed and let his posture slouch. HOnestly, things were getting a little boring. He was considering taking over a part of the mountain ranges just for the hell of it, but that may be a bit much.

"Another one, my Lord?" A silky voice came from the corner of the throne room, as a woman practically melted out of the shadows. Ciyan sighed.

"Sadly, yes."

A moment of silence. Then, the spoke. "You are not at all upset, are you?"

A predatory grin split his face as he stood up. He leaned over, arms hanging to accommodate for his height. He didn't like standing up tall; it made his head hurt. "Hasin, why must you always assume that I enjoy putting the scum of society in their places?"

The necromancer cocked her thin brow, straight black hair spilling over her shoulders as she tilted her head. "It's no assumption, Ciyan."

He chuckled again, turning to stride back to his throne once more.

"You know me so well."

"It's in the job description."

Ciyan waved his hand in dismissal of the topic. "What do you need, Sin?" It felt more like a demand than a question, but at this point Hasin was used to it. Ciyan's understanding of human tone wasn't very developed.

"Mauhul threatened another military leader. Again."

He perked up slightly. "Oh? Were they frightened?"

She sighed, blsck eyes closing as she pinched the bridge of her thin nose. "Sometimes I wonder how you two haven't run this place into the ground," she murmured exasperatedly. Ciyan chuckled.

"It's likely your fault that we haven't destroyed the castle," he responded, his two fanged canines exposed as he stuck his long blue tongue out.

The vast, vast majority of people who were faced with Ciyan got scared, defensive, started crying, passed out, all four, or something else. The two people on his court, Hasin and General Mauhul, were the only two who have stood up and showed no outward fear towards him. Mauhul did it simply because of pure recklessness and pride, and Sin did it because she is only interested in her work. If that means taking offers from a potential evil deity, she didn’t care.

“Are we not going to worry about social affairs?” She asked, an attitude present in her voice.

“Would it matter?” Ciyan retorted with a slight frown.

“I suppose not.”

“Then we won’t.”

Sin nodded, the skull at her side bobbing as she walked back towards the door. Ciyan may be over 800 years old, but he was very new at ruling a kingdom. Perhaps it's because he was used to just demanding things and not worrying about keeping up an image. That was part of the reason why Hasin chose to work with him. She knows that he needs someone to work his way around people. (Even if she was no better herself, she has a way with words). “Close up the throne room. Have a nice night my lord.”

With that, Ciyan was left alone in the throne room. The two guards who had been previously stationed were dragging a criminal down to the cellars by now. Ciyan turned his eyes to the windows at the top of his throne room before turning around. He closed the door to his Royal Hall with a flick of his wrist, and left the throne room; disappearing after Sin through a door secluded in the shadows.

Do not repost, translate, or copy my work on to other platforms.

#oc x male reader #writing #King Ciyan #how tf do i tag this

27 notes · View notes

izzyfandoms · 4 years ago

Text

Through Your Ears And Mine

SHIPS: Dukemile

CHARACTERS: Remus Sanders, Emile Picani

WARNING: Remus eats something gross

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @glassferns @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1

Masterpost

A Series Of Soulmate AUs Masterpost

Remus always knew when he was about to switch hearing with his soulmate.

His ears warmed and started to tingle, and he always had a few second warning until he lost his own hearing, and started to hear through his soulmate’s ears. It always lasted at least five seconds, and never more than half a minute, though mostly somewhere in the middle, and usually didn’t give him too much information, though he enjoyed it every time.

He often heard cartoons, and he’d managed to piece together that his soulmate was a therapist through the numerous snippets of patients talking. Once, he’d heard them call his soulmate ‘doc,’ which was as close to a name or nickname as Remus had ever gotten to hearing.

Whenever he heard music, it was almost always Disney or from cartoons, which painted quite the picture of what Remus’s soulmate was like.

He seemed cute and sweet and kind, based on his taste and his choice of career, and absolutely nothing like Remus, himself.

But everyone said that opposites attracted, and Remus already knew that his soulmate was exactly his type. That was how soulmates worked, after all.

Unfortunately, Remus’s voice stopped working whenever he heard through his soulmate’s ears, which made it pretty difficult to leave a message, and the unpredictability of when it happened made it equally hard to plan ahead. He was never much of a planner, though, and was content to just let life happen to him.

They couldn’t really use their soulbond to find each other, but Remus was still happy with what it was, and listening to his soulmate was always the best part of his day.

He’d find him when he found them, and though Remus was impatient, he wasn’t the kind of person to just go out and find him himself.

When he heard the warmth and tingling in his ears, he was listening to music – it was loud and crude, just his taste, but nothing his soulmate hadn’t heard through him before, so he kept it going when the world faded out, and his soulmate’s side faded in.

“-are the Crystal Gems, we’ll always save the day!”

Ah, Steven Universe. Remus’s cousin, Patton, had teamed up with Roman to make Remus watch the show with them, so he was familiar with the theme tune. It also wasn’t the first time he’d overheard his soulmate watching it.

“And if you think we can’t, we’ll always find a way!”

Remus drummed his fingers on his knee in time to the music.

“That’s why the people of this world believe in: Garnet, Amethyst and Pearl and Steven!”

Only a moment after the theme-tune was finished, it faded out and the song Remus was listening to faded back in. It was almost over, and Remus suddenly realised how loud it was, especially in comparison to the song he’d just overheard. Hopefully his soulmate didn’t have sensitive ears.

Remus huffed, flopping back against the couch, and keeping the song at the deafening volume.

That was boring. He’d been hoping for something a little more interesting – some snippet that would tell him more about his soulmate and their life – but apparently fate had had different ideas.

Remus got up, ripping the headphones from his head and dropping them and his phone onto the couch cushions. He went over to his kitchen and decided to make the most terrible snack he could possibly think of. After a moment of consideration, tapping his foot on the kitchen floor tiles and scanning his surroundings, he decided on ketchup and mint chocolate chip ice cream.

For a second, he wondered if he should microwave the ingredients, making it more of a soup, but he decided against it as he really didn’t want to wait that long.

He mixed the two ingredients in the first bowl he could find, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and then sitting on his kitchen counter, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged.

He ate slowly, savouring the sweet and sour mix of food that he knew would absolutely horrify everyone he’d ever met. Remus would have to text Roman about his snack lately, simply to nauseate and annoy his twin brother. It tasted good, in Remus’s opinion, but he was always one who liked peculiar flavours.

When Remus finished his snack, he dropped the bowl into the sink, alongside all of the other dishes that had been left there for days. He could clean up another time.

(He would not.)

The moment he took a step out of the kitchen, the warmth and tingling in his ears suddenly resumed.

Remus froze in place. It was uncommon for these things to happen back-to-back like this, but not completely underheard of. Once, a few years ago, it had happened twelve times in one day – twice an hour for six hours in a row – and afterwards Roman had told him that that had meant he’d been close to meeting his soulmate, but had missed the opportunity. After that, Remus had sulked for a week.

Hope began to bubble up inside of him, and Remus immediately grinned. He slumped against the wall, and prepared to listen to what he assumed was likely going to be more Steven Universe.

Instead, when his hearing faded out, and his soulmate’s faded in, he heard something else.

“Gosh, I really hope you can hear this! My friend told me to do this, said it worked for him. I recorded this on my phone, ‘cos you can’t normally hear my voice,” the voice was quick, and it took a moment for it to click in Remus’s head that this must have been his soulmate’s voice. He would’ve gasped if he could have. Instead his voice was stuck in his throat, like it always was when he heard through his soulmate’s ears. “So, um, my address is...”

There was only just enough time for the address to finish, before the sound faded out, and the silence of Remus’s apartment faded back in.

He was frozen in place, his eyes wide.

The voice was male, at least from Remus could tell, which made sense as Remus was gay, and therefore only really attracted to men. It was perfect, and already the most attractive voice Remus had ever heard in his life, and he never wanted to stop hearing it.

A minute passed, and then Remus jumped to work. He sped through his apartment, sifting through the mess of drawers – and making an even bigger mess – as he searched for a pen and a piece of paper. He went over the address again and again and again in his head as he moved, making sure not to forget it and memorizing it quickly.

When he finally found a scrap piece of paper – that had a doodle of a man being beheaded on the back – he immediately scribbled the address over the back.

He stared at it for a few seconds, clutching the paper so tightly that he almost ripped it in half.

Then, he made his mind up.

The plans he had already made for tonight, meeting up with his parents for their fortnightly dinner together, immediately slipped from his head. He had to go to this address.

He rushed over to the couch, picking up his phone and searching up the address, and his eyes lit up and his heart skipped a beat when he realised: his soulmate was close.

A two-hour long drive. Possibly less, if Remus didn’t care about breaking laws and ignoring the speed limit, which he truly did not care about.

He could go to that address right now. He could meet his soulmate today.

Remus had to. He would.

He crumpled the paper up into a ball, shoving it into his pocket along with the pen. He then rushed through his apartment like a hurricane, making an even bigger mess of the place as he searched through drawers for his car keys. For once, he was annoyed with himself at his lack of order, as he usually didn’t have much of an idea of where everything was. Normally he didn’t mind, but right now he was in enough of a hurry that he hated it.

When he finally found his keys, he turned and left his apartment.

He forgot to shut the door behind him, but it would be a while until he remembered that.

He drove faster than the speed limit when he could, but apparently fate was on his side, as he wasn’t at any point pulled over. He was halfway through his drive when the hearing switched again, and, for once in his life, Remus was responsible, and he pulled over to listen.

It was the same voice – another recorded message – and Remus’s heart skipped a beat in his chest.

It started with an awkward laugh – endearing and adorable and it made fireworks go off in Remus’s heart – and then the voice spoke again.

“Maybe I should’ve started with my number,” his soulmate said. “And my name. I got a little ahead of myself there, sorry.” Another awkward laugh. “Um... my name is Emile Picani and my number is...”

Remus grabbed the pen that he’d stuffed into his pocket and scribbled the number across the back of his right hand as it was recited. The hearing faded out, and he was left staring at his hand when the sound of the cars zooming past him faded back in.

After a moment, he dug around in his pockets for his phone, and retrieved it quickly.

He wasted no time adding the contact to his phone, and then texting it immediately.

REMUS

would it be weird for me to come to ur address right now

If Remus were any other man, he would have realised how weird of an opening that was. However, he was not any other man, he was Remus, and that was the best he could come up with.

He didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

EMILE

Umm....

I guess that depends on who you are!

Remus could practically hear that sweet, awkward laugh in his head, and he couldn’t wait for the next time he’d get to hear it in his ears again. Hopefully, that next time would happen face-to-face.

REMUS

soulmate

ur voice is pretty

Remus drummed his fingers on his knee as he waited impatiently for the next text. It only took a couple minutes for the next text to come.

EMILE

Oh my gosh!!! Wow!!!!!

So it worked?

My brother told me it would but i was so nervous!

It worked for him and his soulmate but i wasn’t sure it would for us!!!!

All bonds are different right?

REMUS

it worked

can i come then?

EMILE

Gosh okay!!

I don’t have work today and it would be jut wonderful to finally meet you!!!

*just

As long as it doesn’t inconvenience you of course

REMUS

Im already close

And he was. A quick glance at his GPS made it known that he was already only an hour away. Just an away from his soulmate’s place, and from finally meeting his soulmate himself.

Remus was ecstatic.

He stuffed his phone into his pocket and restarted his drive.

Again, he drove over the speed limit, but, again, it seemed that fate was on his side, and he wasn’t caught and pulled over.

He got a few complaints from pedestrians when he sloppily parked just down the street from his soulmate’s apartment building, and one even kicked his tire. He ignored them all without hesitation, though, and only just remembered to lock his car behind him as he raced down the street: not quite running, but certainly hurrying.

He passed pedestrians that he paid no mind, darting through the crowd, and then stopped in his tracks when he passed a small stall selling flowers.

Remus paused, his mind moving a mile a minute, before he bought the first bouquet that caught his eye – it was rainbow: a bright, mixture of colours that Remus hoped his soulmate would like.

He wasn’t usually the nice, romantic type, but even Remus wanted to make a good first impression.

It didn’t take long for him to get inside the apartment building – one of the tenants opened the door just before him, and kept holding it open for Remus when they saw him following behind.

He climbed the stairs – he figured running up them was better than taking the elevator, and risking having to stop at every floor. It didn’t take long for him to find his soulmate’s apartment; he checked the address once on the way, and, though his hand-writing was messy and unreadable to most, he knew he was in the right place.

Remus stopped at the door, and knocked loudly.

But before just before it could open, the familiar warmth and tingling of his ears returned, and the moment the door swung open, he still heard it, but through the ears of the man now in front of him, instead of his own.

The man in front of him – his soulmate, his soulmate – was cute. Very, very cute. He had curly hair and wide eyes, and clothes that were pink and beige and neat and clean, as opposed to Remus’s, which were always ripped and messy.

They stared at each other, as they could not yet talk.

Emile’s eyes kept flicking between Remus’s face and the bouquet, and it was only when their hearing switched back that he remembered to hand the flowers to his soulmate.

He held them out, and Emile took them and held them to his chest.

“Thank you.”

#me #writing #dukemile #intrumile #remani #sanders sides #cartoon therapy #emile picani #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #soulmate au #human au #fluff

93 notes · View notes

lockefanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Business Trip: Pt 17 - Interrogation

The fact that there was an actual interrogation going on in the next-door interrogation room was probably the hottest thing about the whole situation.

You notice that the police officer in the cold, sterile room is questioning a heavily tattooed, scary looking dude, but that’s pretty much all the attention you give the scene, given that Park Jihyo was doing her best to distract you.

She distracted you partially with her cute, pretty face, her large, round eyes that seemed like they were always shining with some inner light, making the room brighter just with their presence. Then there was her cute button nose, her wide, blinding smile, and her short haircut that only added to the alluring cute sexiness that she exuded with every movement.

But she mostly distracted you with her breasts.

“Bae Irene is still on the loose, and finding her is our top priority.”

Your statement draws looks and nods of agreement from the women in the room, each of them determined in their own way to finding the mastermind behind the recent attacks on your company. The fact that two of Red Velvet’s members were now currently behind bars did little to dull their desire to bring its leader to justice, especially now that they had escalated things beyond mere corporate espionage and into the realm of physical assault.

Three days have passed since your successful plan to capture Wendy and Joy. You are joined in the large boardroom of JYP’s Seoul office by Momo, Choa, Seolhyun,and Jeongyeon; on a video conference monitor on the wall is Mina, joining into the meeting from back home. Her legal expertise was likely to be important in the days to come.

“Jeongyeon,” you continue, addressing the young IT specialist who had played a key role in trapping Wendy and Joy, “were you able to find anything in Red Velvet’s data that might lead us to her?”

“No,” she replies with a disturbed look on her small face, “it’s kind of crazy - there’s nothing on Red Velvet’s servers that is related to her at all. There are obvious gaps of missing data, especially in data that has a chronological sequence… but some entire files are missing.”

“What do you mean, missing? Is her data on a separate server?” Seolhyun asks. She was the head of JYP’s Seoul office now, following the retirement of her superior; she was just as determined as anyone to find Irene given Red Velvet was operating literally in her own backyard.

“I don’t know where it is. My theory is that when we established the connection to Red Velvet’s servers, it automatically triggered a program or subroutine that deleted everything related to Irene. She must have been prepared for something like this to happen and she had contingency plans in place in case her underlings got caught.”

“That bitch didn’t even give a damn about deleting her other members’ data,” Momo points out with a sneer, “some leader she is.”

“Keep digging, Jeongyeon,” you say as you give her an encouraging look, “maybe you’ll find something in one of the other members’ files that can help us out.”

Jeongyeon manages a smile, and you are surprised for a split second by how cute her determined look was; you rarely saw or had a chance to work with her, buried deep in JYP HQ’s IT floor as she usually was. But now that you had a chance to really spend some time with her, you found yourself attracted to her geeky, tomboy appeal.

“We should interrogate Wendy and Joy,” Momo says, eager as any of you for any chance to strike back at Red Velvet, “if we tell them their boss didn’t do anything to save their asses they might be more willing to sell her out.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Mina adds through the video conference feed, “not legally possible, anyway. We’re not law enforcement officers, and now that they’re under the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency’s custody, we can’t touch them. Any interrogation of those two will have to come from the SMPA. Considering the number of crimes Red Velvet has been involved in, it’s likely we’ll be waiting awhile before any interrogation relating to JYP even begins.”

Momo seems disappointed at Mina’s answer - she was really chomping at the bit to get at those two, and a small part of you takes comfort in the fact that perhaps it was because they had hurt you.

“I’ll speak to Detective Park at the SMPA today. Maybe she can give us a few minutes with them if we’re lucky,” you suggest. You were eager to meet with Park Jihyo again, if for no other reason than to thank her for her part in rescuing you three days ago.

“Then what about Sana and Tzuyu?” Momo says, “they received their orders directly from Irene when they pulled their little Taiwan stunt. Maybe they might know something that can help us.”

Momo’s tone is neutral, although you knew that she still harboured some resentment towards Tzuyu and especially towards Sana for what they did in Taiwan with Seolhyun’s company data. As much as you appreciated her eagerness in finding Irene and making her pay for what she did to you, you knew anyone that questioned Sana and Tzuyu would need a clear head. Her history with Sana would clearly compromise any questioning she did to the other Japanese girl.

“I’ll take care of that,” Mina offers, saving you from having to tell Momo that she couldn’t question the two ex-SM employees, “They’re still back here at home anyway. I’ll get some questions ready and question them in the next day or two.”

“Good, do that and report back when you’ve spoken to them,” you say, “maybe they’ll still have some contact information or something like that… A phone number, an email address, anything. Momo, you, Seolhyun, and Choa can help Jeongyeon comb through all the Red Velvet data and try to find anything that might lead to Irene. I’m sure Jeongyeon can use the help.”

“There’s terabytes of stuff to go through,” Jeongyeon adds with a sigh, “those girls were busy. There are records of at least a few dozen instances of extortion and blackmail, each with hours of recordings and video.”

“Great, let’s get to work. Let’s meet up back here tonight at 10 and we can get some drinks. It’s been a rough few days. Maybe it’ll help us cool off.”

Your team nods, and each of you head off with determined looks on your faces.

---

The other women have left to start their respective tasks, and Momo is the last to leave the room. As she steps out of the boardroom you grab her lightly by her arm.

“Momo, I was hoping we could talk.”

She had stayed by your hospital bedside for every single minute you were there, refusing to go home or even eat until Choa reminded her to do so. Thankfully whatever drug Joy had knocked you out with had no permanent effects, and you were discharged after three days of observation by hospital staff.

The whole time the two of you didn’t really speak about your relationship; she was too busy taking care of you despite your insistence that you were fine, helping you eat, fluffing your pillows or finding magazines or books for you to pass the time with. Every moment she spent with you only increased your affection for her, and your desire to talk to her about what had happened with Sana.

The two of you hadn’t slept together since the ordeal, not for lack of effort on your part. Momo refused your advances, however, as difficult as it was for her to not give in. She said it was so that you could concentrate on recovering, although you knew it was partially because she was teasing you, and partially because she wanted to punish you.

Momo responds to your request to talk with a sigh, although you could tell it wasn’t because she was dreading the prospect.

“Can we… wait until all this is over? I want to talk to you too, but I can’t relax until that bitch is behind bars,” she responds, her voice soft.

You nod slowly, happy to give her the time and space she needed.

“I… I’m happy you’re here, Momo,” you tell her, eager to tell her something, anything, that conveyed how you felt about her, “...And I’m happy you’re in my life,” you add, not quite knowing where the words were coming from - they were out of your mouth before you knew it. It was your heart speaking, you guessed.

Momo smiles softly, her large, round eyes boring into your very soul, rendering you speechless as they so often did.

“After drinks with the girls tonight I want to fuck so hard we have to call in sick tomorrow,” she says with a smile, eliciting giggles from the both of you, “I bet you’re really backed up, what with an entire three days without sex.”

Classic Momo, interrupting an emotional moment with the topic of sex. You reach for her hand and are thankful for her presence in your life. Your fingers intertwine with hers.

You spend a long minute there in silence, the two of your sharing soft smiles with each other, happy for a moment of quiet following the recent storm that the two of you had weathered together. Eventually Momo steps close and gives you a peck on the lips before turning and rejoining the rest of your team.

You watch her leave, the smile still on your lips.

---

You had expected the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency’s Cybercrime Division to be hidden away in some corner of the large central Seoul precinct, but you were surprised by what you found when Detective Park led you through the glass sliding doors into her department; a hyper modern, super advanced open concept office that seemed to have more screens and monitors in once place than you had ever seen in your entire life.

“Korea is one of the most connected countries in the world,” Jihyo states as she leads you through the busy department, “and as such cybercrime is a huge deal for us, especially here in the capital.”

All around you officers are glued to monitors or busy typing away on their phones. Everywhere tablets, smartphones, and laptops have taken the place of charts, notebooks and notepads. Truly this was the police department of the future.

“Please,” Jihyo says as she invites you into her office that is tucked into a corner of the floor. She closes the door behind you as you step in, and she motions for you to sit in the seat in front of her desk with an exaggerated servant’s flourish. The young detective had a cheerful, bright charisma about her that made her easy to get along with.

“I wanted to thank you personally, detective,” you start, “for your role in what happened earlier this week. We weren’t expecting them to drug me, so it was good that you and your men have such impeccable timing.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Jihyo responds, “as you know Red Velvet has been a thorn in our sides for years. I’m glad they’ve finally been put to justice.”

“Most of them, anyway.”

“Most of them, anyway,” Jihyo echoes, catching on to what you are saying.

“My team is hard at work combing through what we’ve found on their servers. We’re hoping we’ll be able to find some trace of data that might lead us to Irene.”

Jihyo gives you a small, sly smile.

“You do realize,” she begins, “that Red Velvet’s data is official evidence. You’re not supposed to have any of it.”

“It would have been foolish of us to not make a copy before we handed it over to you,” you answer truthfully.

Jihyo gives you an exaggerated sigh as though she was disappointed in you, but you could tell she was being sarcastic.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just tell me that,” she says, her bright smile still on her round, cute face. When you first met her you were still technically drugged, but now that you had the chance to have a conversation under less stressful circumstances you were surprised to see how attractive she really was. She had a bright, cheerful aura about her that was somewhat at odds with the gravity of her position.

“Anyway, i was hoping you could help us with something.”

“What might that be?”

“We’d like to question Wendy and Joy. We believe if we tell them that Irene cut her losses and left them behind, they’d be willing to co-operate with us and perhaps provide us with information regarding her whereabouts.”

Jihyo’s smile widens, surprised that you had the audacity to ask for such a thing.

“That’s kind of illegal,” she answers, “they’re suspects for a crime that is being actively investigated. Their interrogation is under SMPA jurisdiction. My jurisdiction.”

“Then maybe we don’t have to question them. Maybe you’ll just happen to accidentally leave them in a room after hours and with any recording devices turned off…”

“...a room where you and your staff might be waiting?”

“You can’t stop what you don’t know is happening, Detective Park,” you finish.

Jihyo leans forward on her desk, bringing her hands together beneath her chin and interlacing her fingers.

“I understand your eagerness to find Irene,” she says, “but you know I can’t leave you alone with Wendy and Joy after what they did to you. I’m sure you’re a fine gentleman that wouldn’t hurt a woman, but I wish I could say the same for your girlfriend. She looked like she wanted to tear Wendy’s head off.”

“Momo is… passionate,” you admit.

“Dammit,” Jihyo hisses under her breath, her volume obviously loud enough for you to hear.

“Excuse me?”

“So she is your girlfriend. I was kinda hoping she was just a friend or especially concerned co-worker or something.”

You smile as you realize what Jihyo was implying. You decide to tease her a little, saying, “Detective Park, are you attracted to me? Are you disappointed that I have a girlfriend?”

“Noooo,” Jihyo answers, leaning back into her chair. Her cheeks turn a deep shade of pink. You smile smugly, liking where this was going.

“Well, I’ll have you know that Momo and I have… a relaxed relationship. Especially when it comes to other women.”

“I’ll have you know I’m not some easy girl that’s going to sleep with you just because your girlfriend lets you bang other women.”

“Who said anything about sleeping? There must be an interrogation room around here somewhere we can use…”

Jihyo grabs a pencil off her desk and throws it at you with a laugh, and you are happy to find that she has taken your joke for what it was. She maintains eye contact with you after you successfully deflect the projectile, a sly, alluring look on her features.

“Can you shoot?” she asks, out of the blue.

“Shoot… like, a gun?”

“No, shoot a damn basketball. We’re in a police station. Of course I mean guns.”

“Um, I can’t say ever shot a gun, although I’m pretty good with Widowmaker’s sniper rifle, if that’s the kind of gun you mean…”

Jihyo giggles before rising from her desk and tapping you on the shoulder on her way out of the office.

“Follow me,” she says, and you follow her eagerly.

---

Park Jihyo, it appeared, was quite the shot.

The pistol - a Daewoo K5, as Jihyo informed you - bucked violently in her hands that seemed so tiny by comparison, but she did an admirable job of handling the recoil of the weapon. More than admirable, it appeared, as she proudly showed you the close up shot of the target that was displayed on the tablet embedded into the wall of the firing range. Her smile was even brighter, it seemed, than it was earlier in her office.

“Cops rarely carry their sidearms on duty here in Korea,” she says as she makes her weapon safe, “and when we have to go on a raid in the field it’s usually only the SWAT guys that are carrying. But every now and then I like to sneak down here and let off a few mags to blow off steam.”

“You’ve clearly had a lot of practice. I dunno if I stand a chance here.”

“C’mon, give it a shot. All that Overwatch experience must mean something.”

You smile at her jab as you approach the firing booth and pick up the pistol, your first time handling any sort of firearm.

“Now take the long rectangular thing with the bullets in it - that’s called the magazine - and then put it in-”

You smile as you grasp the magazine and load the pistol, racking the slide back with your free hand as the pistol chambers a round.

“I’ve watched enough movies and fired enough virtual guns, thanks,” you retort, and Jihyo snorts in reply. She approaches you and you feel your senses tingle as she brings her arms around your torso. You are even more aroused by the feel of her chest pressing ever so slightly against your back. Her hands lift your forearms into the correct position.

“Shooting a real gun isn’t like clicking your mouse button,” she says matter-of-factly, “just breathe and pull the trigger back softly. You should feel a wall in the trigger. After that, the trigger will break and the gun will go off. Line up the rear and front sight, breathe out, pull the trigger…”

The pistol barks, and you both glance at the tablet that is relaying a live shot of the target downrange, looking for a bullet hole… that is totally absent.

“Did you… did you just miss the entire target? Damn, you suuuuuuck,” Jihyo teases.

“Just you wait,” you retort, “I just need some practice.”

The next fourteen rounds do little to back up your claim, but at least three of them manage to hit the paper, even if only one of those three actually lands in one of the target circles; the furthest one, at that.

“Apparently shooting a real gun isn’t like clicking my mouse button,” you say, echoing Jihyo’s earlier words and being rewarded with a throaty laugh from the detective. She steps into the booth with you to begin to fill another empty magazine with more rounds, and you tense suddenly at her close proximity.

“Maybe you just need motivation,” Jihyo says with a suddenly sultry tone.

“Maybe I do,” you agree.

“Maybe if you hit the three point circle with this next magazine, we find an interrogation room around here somewhere we can use.”

New motivation fills your veins, and you grasp the pistol in both hands as you load the newly filled magazine. Jihyo steps out of the booth, you line up your shot, and pull the trigger fifteen times.

You miss with every shot. Five miss the target altogether, eight hit the paper outside of the target circles. Two hit the five point circle, although you’re sure they were mostly fluky shots.

You eject the magazine and lay down the still smoking pistol. Jihyo retrieves it, the remaining ammunition, and your eye and ear protection and returns the equipment to the weapons storage room, replacing the lock and shutting down the range, a sly smile on her features all the while.

“Good thing there are consolation prizes,” she says with a tempting, alluring tone, taking you by the wrist and leading you out of the firing range.

---

The fact that there was an actual interrogation going on in the next-door interrogation room was probably the hottest thing about the whole situation.

But she mostly distracted you with her breasts.

She was well endowed, it went without saying, easily the largest of the women you’d slept recently. And you were practically drooling with anticipation, as at the moment they were still annoyingly encased in her strapless, white cotton bra, her blue and red checkered cardigan teasingly opened up to reveal her assets to your eager eyes.

Your lips are pressed to her neck, planting soft kisses on her smooth skin that elicit soft gasps from the young detective, and you find yourself happy, not for the first time, that the listening room was completely soundproof to the interrogation room. You move lower with your kisses, bending somewhat awkwardly at the waist now to bring your mouth closer and closer to the prize. You bring your hands up her sides, treasuring the feel of her warm skin beneath your palms as you eventually bring them to her chest and cup her bra-clad breasts.

Jihyo accommodates you by pressing her back up against the soundproof glass. The audacity of the action surprised you - there you were, devouring a young woman just a few feet away from a scary looking interrogation, the occupants of that room completely in the dark as to what was happening in the very next room.

Her back pressed against the glass, you are free to bend your neck further. Jihyo finally lets you have your consolation prize, if indeed this is what it was - she reaches behind her and undoes the latch to her strapless bra, letting the garment fall to the ground, her round, full breasts falling free as they finally escape their cotton prison.

You want to dive in, so to speak, but Jihyo pushes you back by your shoulders until you fall into the chair in the listening room. She straddles you quickly, and wasting no time, brings her chest to your face.

“Taste me,” she says, the words almost a hiss as they escape her lips.

You do just that, burying yourself quite literally in her breasts, taking her left breast first in your mouth, your tongue swirling over her already hardened nipple. Your left hand captures her right breast in its palm, squeezing the soft flesh gleefully, delighting in the feel of the large mound, happy to experience such a well endowed woman after months of smaller (but no less appealing) chests.

Jihyo leans her head back and lets out a long, low moan that gradually increases in volume as you explore more of her chest and as you deepen the sucking on her nipples. You switch after awhile, your mouth descending on her other breast, leaving her other saliva soaked nipple to be squeezed and fondled by your palm.

Momo was probably the next well endowed woman you’d been with, her breasts round and in perfect scale with the rest of her fit, slim body - but Jihyo was in another league entirely, her breasts large without being comically so, her nipples absolutely delicious, your tongue delighting in their pebbly hardness with each suck and stroke against the sensitive buds. You wanted to bury your face in her warm flesh, and you do just that, tearing your mouth from her nipple to press your face in her cleavage, delighting in the feel of her warm flesh on either cheek.

“You like my tits?” Jihyo says, although you both knew the answer.

“Fuck yes,” you answer, your voice muffled, rather pleasantly, by warm breasts.

“I’ll make you love them,” she answers, and you tingle with anticipation as Jihyo takes control, lifting herself from her straddling position until she is kneeling between your knees. Even as she looks up at you with those large, innocent looking eyes of hers, she is unbuckling your belt and hooking her fingers into your waistband, pulling your jeans and the boxers you are wearing underneath them down your hips, until they are down past your knees.

She immediately takes you into her mouth; without warning, without teasing. Other girls relished that few minutes of teasing, taking things slowly, working you with their hands and the tips of their tongues, making you squirm, making you wait, painfully, for them to take you into their mouth.

But Jihyo is not one of those girls, and as she continues to take you in and out of her wet, warm mouth, you thank god that she wasn’t, because you don’t think you could have waited a moment longer for her to begin. She is not as skilled as Seolhyun or Momo, but she makes up for it with sheer enthusiasm, swirling her tongue around your sensitive head and pumping your shaft with her closed fist.

You lean your head back in pleasure. In the interrogation room, things are getting heated, the cop appearing angered by something the gangster has said; little knowing one of his colleagues was in the listening room giving you a blowjob. You would have laughed, if you weren’t sighing out of pleasure.

Jihyo slowly winds down from her blowjob, and as it had only been a minute or so since she began you find yourself disappointed, especially since the pleasure was just beginning to build. But when she straightens her back, you realize why her blowjob was so short.

You know what she is about to do, but it does little to dim the anticipation of what is about to happen, nor does it lessen the pleasure when Jihyo leans forward and, taking each of her breasts in her hands, traps your erect shaft between her large mounds. Slowly, she grinds her chest against your pelvis, your slick shaft pumping in and out between her breasts, the saliva from her blowjob providing the perfect amount of lubrication, the head and upper half appearing and disappearing from between mounds of soft, warm flesh.

You are awestruck by the pleasure this brings, if for no other reason than because of the novelty of it - you’d never been with a woman endowed enough to even try this, and while you’d emptied yourself on plenty of womens’ chests after fucking, you’d yet to experience a titjob.

Jihyo tries, mostly in vain, to lick your head as it appears from between her breasts, only succeeding a little bit of the time, but each time her tongue makes contact with your head it sends shocks of pleasure shooting up and down your spine. The novelty, the pleasure, the fact that you were getting a titjob from a beautiful young detective while an interrogation was happening just a few feet away from you, it was a lot to take in, and it quickly became too much.

For long, pleasureable minutes, Jihyo continues to push your rock hard shaft in and out between her warm, slick breasts, her hands squeezing her flesh tightly around your cock, her fingers interlacing at her front to keep your cock from escaping the lovely embrace of her tits. She continues to try to lick the head of your cock sometimes, sometimes letting her head fall back and making eye contact with you through half-lidded, heavy, seductive eyes. It was all too much to handle.

“Fuck, Jihyo, that feels amazing.”

“Mmmmm?” she manages to reply, so absorbed she is in trying to lick your shaft as it appears between her breasts.

“Fuck… you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Then fucking cum,” Jihyo replies, returning her full attention to your pleasure, increasing her pace, squeezing her breasts even tighter around your thrusting shaft as it sinks and reappears from between her soft flesh mounds. She pumps her chest up and down faster, grinding her chest against you fast and faster, until you quickly see that edge, that edge from which there is no return.

“Fuck… Jihyo… I’m cumming!”

“Do it! Give me all your cum… give it to me… cum on my face… Cum on me! Cum all over me!”

Your orgasm strikes with the force of a thunderbolt, and you feel every single burst of semen as it erupts from your shaft, the first shot happening while your head was still covered by Jihyo’s breasts, sending hot, warm cum into her cleavage and further lubricating each subsequent thrust. You wonder if she is going to open her mouth to take the rest of your cum, but Jihyo instead leans her face back, letting the rest of your semen splash against her chin and face, the thick liquid spraying all over her cute, innocent features.

You weren’t usually one for giving girls facials, but there was something radically different about Jihyo. Maybe it was the environment, the fact that Jihyo was a law enforcement officer; maybe it was the gravity of the week’s earlier events; maybe it was the novelty, it being your first time receiving a titjob.

Whatever it was, you found yourself staring, awestruck, at Jihyo’s cum stained face as you finish sending your last few small streams of semen onto her chin and her upper chest, her grinding gradually slowing as your orgasm finally subsides.

Jihyo finally lets your shaft escape from her warm, wet cleavage, and she bends low to run her tongue along your shaft from its base to its tip, drawing shivers of sheer pleasure from your post-orgasm cock. She straightens her back, allowing you a perfect view of the semen splayed all over her large breasts, the smooth, perfect skin of her upper chest, and finally, the beautiful, innocent features of her cute face.

Jihyo brings her hands to her wet chest and begins rubbing the cum into her skin, lending it a shiny, slick appearance in the dim light of the listening room.

“It’s a shame you didn’t do better on the range,” she says with a sexiness you didn’t think the innocent young detective capable of.

“Oh yeah?” you manage to ask, “and what would’ve happen if I had done better?”

Jihyo smiles slyly as she captures a stream of dripping semen from her cheek and brings it to her mouth, tasting it as if it were some expensive delicacy at a five star restaurant.

“...All this cum would be in my pussy.”

---

You smile as you watch Jihyo join the other girls in the busy, swanky looking Seoul bar. Choa greets her with a warm hug, the two having worked closely together as they planned the capture of Wendy and Joy. With a warm smile the older girl introduces her to Seolhyun and Jeongyeon, who welcome the young detective warmly with smiles and a tall glass of beer.

A poke on your arm alerts you to Momo’s presence, two drinks in her hands as she offers one to you with a warm smile. You accept, and with a toast of your glasses together, you share your first sip of the evening, relishing the cold, crisp alcohol as it slides down your throats.

“Rough week,” you say, eliciting a smile from Momo.

“I’ll say,” she agrees, “Sooo… did you hit that?”

“Jihyo? No… just boob stuff.”

Momo blushes and almost chokes on her next sip of beer as she gives you a playful punch on the shoulder.

“That’s no fair, I can’t do boob stuff. She’s got an unfair advantage. Was it… a natural advantage?”

“Oh yes, I think so.”

“Dammit. I wish I could do boob stuff,” she says with an exaggerated sad face as she looks down at her own chest.

You smile widely as you wrap your arm around her and kiss her forehead.

“She’s got nothing on you,” you reassure her, leaning down to give her a small peck on the lips. Momo returns your kiss, and the kiss deepens slightly, before Momo breaks it off.

“I’m still, like, super fucking mad at you,” she says, her playful, sarcastic tone betraying the weight of her words, “and one day soon I’m gonna tear you a new one.”

“The Future Me can handle that.”

Momo lets out a snort before composing herself for what she is about to tell you.

“Before things get all drunk and alcohol-y tonight, you should know what the girls and I found while we were sifting through Red Velvet’s data.”

“What’s that?” you ask, taking another sip as you prepare yourself for what Momo is about to tell you.

“We pieced together communication between Wendy and Joy, and apparently their entire plan to trap you and get access to the JYP servers through your login was solely Wendy’s idea, and Irene had no idea it was happening. I guess she wanted to impress Irene with it.”

“So Wendy was a damn snake,” you quip, “no surprise there.”

“That’s not all. We found a message that was sent to Irene minutes before we caught Wendy and Joy. The message must have been what warned Irene in time to manually activate the program that deleted all her data from the server.”

“So it wasn’t automatically triggered when we gained access, like Jeongyeon said?”

“No. Irene actively deleted her data when she got the warning. Someone knew it was happening, and someone let her escape before we caught Wendy.”

“Fuck,” you hiss as you weigh the complications of this revelation, “who could it have been? Did you find out where the message came from?”

“No. Jeongyeon says it could have come from anyone.”

“Even one of us?”

“Even one of us,” Momo echoes, taking a deep sip of her beer in an attempt, perhaps in vain, to ease the implications of what she was saying.

“No. We’ve already been betrayed once. I refuse to believe we have another traitor in our ranks.”

“I don’t want to believe it either. And to be fair, it could be anyone who knew what was happening, not even necessarily one of us. For all we know, it could be someone we aren’t even aware of, someone we don’t even know.”

“That’s scarier,” you admit, and Momo nods in agreement.

You sigh - you had hoped this evening would lend you a small reprieve from the gravity of the past few days, but now you found another weight being added to your worries.

“Hey,” Momo says as she catches on to what you were feeling, “let’s worry about this tomorrow. Future Us can find whoever did this to us, and we’ll catch them just like we caught Wendy and Joy. Then Irene after that.”

You smile, and you find some solace in Momo’s bright smile, finding yourself thankful once more that this wonderful woman was in your life.

“Cheers to that,” you say, sharing a toast with Momo as you both rejoin your colleagues at their table, eager to forget about your worries if even for a single evening.

---

In a dark, mostly empty cafe in downtown Seoul, Bae Irene is meeting with two females.

“Wendy and Joy fucked up and got themselves caught. It’s time for you two to step up.”

The first female lets out a haughty laugh.

“Don’t talk to us like we’re your fucking employees. We’re done with that life,” one of the women answers, “we’ve had our fun. We’ve retired.”

“You’ll come back to it once you realize how much I’ll pay you.”

“What’s wrong with your other members? Seulgi and… what was the other’s name? Yubin? Yerin? Yeri?” says the second female.

“I don’t need them,” Irene hisses, “they’re dead to me now, after what they did to me.”

“This will cost you,” the first woman says.

“SM has deep pockets,” Irene answers.

“What do you want us to do?”

“I want to break JYP,” Irene answers, every syllable cold as steel, “I want to break him.”

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #Smut #pov smut #male reader #twice #twice jihyo #park jihyo

144 notes · View notes

cassieschaosdimension · 4 years ago

Text

Okay! Here it is the fanfic some of you have been requesting!

Enjoy it!

"Nico!" Will called to his boyfriend. "Put that sweater on right now! You know you want to!" He starts running after Nico with said sweater in hand. He knows his boyfriend wants to wear it, but the goth message is too strong.

Nico is being chased all over their apartment in New Rome by his overly energetic boyfriend who wants to match for their first Christmas on their own. He would have put the sweater on by himself, but it was too ugly to be seen on anyone. Even Hephaestus and the guy was ugly!

Will stopped all of a sudden and stared at the sweater in his hand. "Nico, it's not that bad! Please wear it! For me!"

Oh no Nico thought as he watched his boyfriend turn on that Southern charm and the puppy dog eyes. He tried to look away, but found he couldn't because Will was advancing slowly towards him.

"William," Nico says slowly edging towards the front door of their one bedroom apartment. "Be reasonable, would you want your dad, the fashion guru of Greek mythology to see me in that?!" The horror is present in his tone. "First off, I would not wear it and you know I would wear almost anything to please you. I draw the line at that thing!"

This gives Will a pause as he considers the question. He stares at the jingle bells stripes and Christmas tree underneath them. The green and gold don't work out and the red of the presents aren't helping the poor sweater's case. He thinks back to the time his dad yelled at him for wearing sandals with socks because he was in a rush after being late for cabin clean up duty. He shudders. He does not want a repeat of his over dramatic father flapping his arms while lecturing him on fashion choices.

Will sighs. "Alright Nico. You win this one. My dad's fashion lectures aren't for the faint of heart and I've had enough of them to last a lifetime. But please dress in green or red okay? You would look really good in emerald green." He starts walking to their room.

Nico grins to himself. He's won this round with his mad reasoning skills. Then again, he almost always wins his arguments with Will. Decades in the Lotus Casino arguing over games will do that to you. Then he registers what his boyfriend requested of him.

He starts to run after Will. "Will! I don't have emerald clothing! I have brown, black, and grey! What are you talking about?! William! Get over here!"

Will cackles to himself while going through their closet. He bought his boyfriend colored clothes for occasions with his father and Nico looks delicious in cool, dark times so that's what he bought. He was lucky he hid them on his side of the closet. He turns to see his boyfriend glaring at him.

Nico stares at his poor boyfriend he only knows wants to help him make an impression on Hades. It was only supposed to be the two of them and Hades and Persephone, but of course Apollo had to invite himself. Rolling his eyes at the memory he turns back to Will with his hands on his hips glare still in full force.

With a pleading look on his face, Will is desperate. They're running late and he doesn't want to leave the three gods alone more than they have to be. "Nico," cue the sigh. "We're already running late and I don't want to find a war going on with your stepmom in the middle. She's scary."

"Will… Fine!" Nico says throwing his hands up and walking to grab the shirt from his boyfriend who is now grinning broadly. He walks to the bathroom and changes into the shirt grumbling about Will and if he didn't live him he wouldn't do this.

Meanwhile Will is getting dressed in a dark maroon, fluffly long sleeve sweater and dark blue jeans with black vans. When Nico comes back from the bathroom his heart stops.

His boyfriend stands slightly slouched, uncomfortable with the attention. The emerald shirt sets off his long lashes, dark eyes, and raven hair perfectly. Will wants to swoon, but they have business to attend to.

"Good you're ready to go. Hades confirmed he's ready for us?" Will says coming next to Nico.

In response Nico nods and they head out the door. "Just so you know," Nico says with an undertone. "I'm only wearing this shirt and making nice with your dad because your mom loves me so now I need to win over your dad."

Will doesn't tell Nico his dad was won over the minute Nicon said hello, I'm only here because Will made me. Maybe he might actually behave. One can hope.

They head to the car deep in each of their thoughts. Nico is worried how long his dad is going to last in Apollo's presence. Will is worried how long Hades can stand to be in his dad's presence because Apollo is overbearing.

They have agreed to meet in the Underworld and Zeus has given Apollo permission to head down there to celebrate with them. As Will starts to drive south, the air in the car turns warmer. They banter and whine about the music choice. Nico wants Green Day and Will wants to listen to Blake Shelton.

They left around eleven in the morning on Christmas Day and it takes them about seven hours to get to Hollywood because of traffic in the LA area. They park the car and walk behind the Hollywood sign, Will grabbing Nico's leather jacket in the way behind the sign because even with a sweater on the Underworld is a child, unforgiving place. There Will grabs onto Nico and they shadow travel down to Hades' living room.

Nico wonders why they couldn't shadow travel in the first place and why Will insisted they drive when they walk in and he immediately knows why.

Persephone is standing by the wall her hands over her head while her husband and cousin are going at it.

"This is my domain Apollo you do not have the authority to say what's going to be served for dinner. I can do that on my own."

"But Uncle, you're serving turkey! It's supposed to be ham! Most mortals use ham!" Turning to his son he implores him. "Will tell Hades most mortals use ham for their Christmas dinner!"

Will is torn between getting the approval of his boyfriend's father and his dad. He ultimately goes for the one that will save his life. "Dad, many mortals celebrate Christmas differently or not at all. If Nico's dad wants to serve turkey then let him serve turkey! We are here as his guests and I expect you to behave!"

Apollo looks torn but nods and says "Will, I know you want to make a good impression on Uncle over there, but I am your father!"

"No dad. Mom raised me to have manners and her manners have taught me to accept all food unless I am allergic to it and I have no food allergies. Now sit down and we can eat." Will turns to Lord Hades. "Please excuse my father Lord Hades. I had a talk about this with him earlier, but it seems to have not rectified in his brain."

Hades nods and strides over to Nico. "Nico. Thank you for coming. I am starting to warm up to the boy, but I still need time."

Nico sighs his left hand clenching in a fist involuntarily. "Father you have been given years to accept Will. And it seems you have, but you don't want me to know. Father, the spirits talk."

Hades looks shocked and now angry. "Now listen here Nico. I may have approved of him, but he must be worthy of Maria DiAngelo's child. Bianca wishes she were here, but she is having fun in the fields of Elysium."

Meanwhile Will and Apollo are having their own discussion.

"But Will, Uncle said he didn't mind me coming!"

"Dad, you invited yourself here, remember? I know what mom saw in you, but really. Your manners need brushing up. For real. Just because Lord Hades is your uncle doesn't mean you can barge into his domain even with Lord Hades permission." Will feels like a dad reprimanding a child.

"William," Apollo strikes a pose. "I am the god of music and medicine. This is a celebration with my son and son in law. I had to come." He dramatically sighs and heads to the table. "Come now Will, let's stuff our faces!

As Will follows his dad he wonders who exactly the child is. He looks over at his boyfriend and his dad. They look like they're still having a heated discussion. Luckily for Will he has Nico's jacket so the chill in the air isn't as bad as it could have been. Nico hasn't noticed the jacket is gone until he brings his hands up to tig it around himself and it's gone. Looking up he mock scowls at Will.

Nico walks up to his boyfriend with an air of I don't care. They both know he cares very much. "Will, give me my jacket."

In response Will sticks out his tongue and says no. This results in a banter fight much like the one back at the apartment.

Will doesn't want to give the jacket back because it's warm and he's freezing. Nico says he can get him another one of Nico's leather jackets. But Will isn't having it. He knows this is Nico's favorite jacket hence why it was in the car, he takes that thing everywhere he goes. He wants to wear his boyfriend's favorite jacket. His boyfriend wants to wear his favorite jacket. The two of them are so engrossed in their argument they don't see the three adults smiling at them.

Persephone was reminded of how she first felt arguing with Hades over the fact she was kidnapped against her will by a much older man. She was intimidated by this man yet she felt some sort of weird connection to him. She pitied him because he was older and lonely down here with no one but Cerberus to keep him company. Eventually she came to care for this man unlike her stepson and his boyfriend who genuinely seem to get along even when arguing.

She goes over to break it up. "Boys, you can have this argument later. Nico, let Will keep the jacket, you can feel him shivering. I'll go turn up the fire. Will dear, come sit and stuff your face as your impatient father has been doing for the past half hour.

At this Apollo looks up turkey gravy dripping from his mouth. They all sigh and hope this is over soon. The dinner drags on and on and suddenly Hades can't take it anymore. While the rest of the group has polite conversation, Apollo finds it necessary to butt in and make it funny when it's not.

Normally Will accepts this behavior with grace, but not on Christmas and not when he is trying to get approval from his boyfriend's father who happens to be Lord of the Dead.

"Hey Dad," Will says from across the table where he has watched his dad pack away most of the food on the table. "I don't appreciate this and maybe I'll tell mom about this little gathering and how your Southern manners disappeared." He raises an eyebrow and Apollo's response is hilarious.

He sits up straight and acts like a Southern gentleman the rest of the time. Will signs in exasperation and turns to Nico and Lord Hades.

"Lord Hades, please forgive my father for his behavior," here he pauses while throwing side glances at his father.

Hades waves his hand in a gesture of peace. "Please boy. This is almost tame for my nephew. Did you enjoy your meal?"

Turning to Nico for reassurance Will answer carefully. "Yes Lord Hades. The good was quite delicious. Thank you for inviting us over for dinner."

"You are welcome boy," Hades says turning to his son. "Now, let's get the gift giving over with so my nephew can go home." The two snicker together and Will tries not to join in. It's impossible though as Persephone is talking to Apollo utterly bemused while he sprouts haikus about the meal.

"Father, here is my gift to you," Nico's voice carries as he hands a gift to Lord Hades.

"Thank you son. I appreciate it." His voice also carries. Apollo is beginning to quiet down and not be so energetic. Now he begins to get downright cocky. He's no longer dramatic.

He heads to their end of the table near the tree Persephone insisted on having. "Ahhhh presents. I remember when I was youn-" Apollo is cut off when Nico hands him a gift.

They're all speechless and Will stares at Nico in shock. Looking around at all of them he asks "what? I can give gifts."

A shocked silence falls over the room when Will throws himself in Nico's arms. He whispers in his boyfriend's ear. "He didn't expect to get one from you Nico. Look, you made him cry. " They look over still wrapped in each other's arms. Apollo is in fact hugging the gift while grinning with happy tears running down his face.

The look on Will's face says it all. Nico grins as he watches his boyfriend watch his dad open the gift. Suddenly Apollo is rushing towards Nico and grabs him in a hug. Stiffening Nico is confused but then reaches around the god and hugs him back.

Hades looks on with pride at his son who with Will Solanc's aid will grow to be a fine young man. He already was, but since he met Will he had grown in leaps and bounds in height and personality. He was proud of his boy.

Will is beaming with pride at the fact his boyfriend was thoughtful enough to get his dad a gift. To their surprise Apollo hands a gift right back to Nico.

The night is just full of surprises and after the gift giving and opening, Will and Nico start to clean up to head out. They had fun despite the rocky start and by the end of the night Hades had laughed out loud more times than Apollo can remember and Apollo hadn't felt the need to be cocky or arrogant. He was the man Will's mom must have fallen in love with.

As Nico and Will get up to leave Apollo hugs each of them, but Nico's is especially long. He whispers thank you for everything in his ear. Nico is absolutely shocked. He didn't think Apollo knew the words thank you. But here he was a mere demigod getting thanked by a god! Wow, Will's dad is full of surprises…

Apollo then goes over and hugs Hades and Persephone. He really is full of surprises today. He goes and leaves. In his wake four very confused people discuss what happened.

Hades wants to know how his nephew behaved all nice and sweet. He almost didn't recognize him! Persephone told him it was because he realized he could be himself and not have to put an image up.

Nico says he doesn't know which Apollo he finds most sickening, earning him a slap on the back of the head from Will.

They discuss it more and the four grow closer. The Christmas dinner really was a success even with Apollo there. Nico hugs his father and stepmother then gathers up their gifts. Will goes up to Hades and shakes his hand thanking him for inviting them. Persephone hugs Will saying he must come back soon when Nico next visits them.

Soon the two fade into shadows with the two immortals waving after them. Will takes off the jacket and puts it back in the backseat of the car with a grin.

"Well Neeks, I'd say it was a success though I was worried for a second." Will says getting into the driver's seat.

"Me too Will. Your dad actually seems like a really nice guy. I bet it gets tiring putting up a facade all the time," Nico responds through a yawn. "Will, don't drive all the way home. Stop at a hotel okay?"

Nodding Will turns the ignition and starts to drive. They talk about the dinner and how different it turned out from what they expected. Then they start to banter tearing each other with how they expected the night to end up.

"Neeks, you look really good in emerald holy Hera!" Will glances over at his tired boyfriend who is drifting off.

"Will, don't even start you look amazing in my leather jacket. Maybe I'll let you wear it more often." Smiling to himself Nico thinks he'll let only Will wear his leather jacket now. They can share it. His last words before he falls asleep are: "I love you William so pull into a hotel and we'll spend the night there. You're not driving all the way home this late."

Nico's soft snores fill the car and Will can't help but think he and Nico are made for each other. They complement one another perfectly and he thinks back on all the memories they've made together since they got together all those years ago.

Seeing a vacancy sign at a motel he pulls into the parking lot. He leaves Nico snoring away while he goes and asks for a room. Coming back out he rouses Nico and tells him he can sleep in a real bed.

Half asleep Nico leans on his boyfriend for support. The night turned out better than he could ever expected. Maybe next year they could shadow travel or even stay the night.

As Will supports his boyfriend while walking to the room he thinks of how grateful he is to Apollo for catching the eye of his mother so he could he born and also Lord Hades because he made Nico come into existence.

Opening the door, Will walks over to the bed placing the dozing Nico on it. After giving him a forehead kiss he goes to the other side of the bed. "Love you too Neeks."

Both Nico and Will dream about the wonderful Christmas dinner they just had and wonder what will happen next year.

And that's a wrap (lol) on they fanfic! I hope you guys like it! Please let me know what you think of it!

#solangeo #solangelo fanfic #fanfic #short fanfic #riordanverse #hades #apollo #persephone

24 notes · View notes

jj-iz-bae · 4 years ago

Text

Don't tell me not to worry

Word count: 1722 words

Requested by @sunwardsss : Can you do comfort 38 and 43 for Chase please? 38: “I’m in the hospital.”43: “You don’t have to sleep here just because I got admitted.”

Pairings: Chase Stokes x Reader; Chase Stokes x Rudy Pankow; Rudy Pankow x platonic!reader

Warnings: Hospitals,seizures,Fluff,bad spelling and grammar

Note from author: so this is actually based on a seizure episode I had. It only happend one time and was caused by strep throat which triggered a reaction in the auto immune disorder (the disorder basically is that instead of my immune system attacking the virus or illness, my immune system attacks my brain causing all sorts of weird things to happen. When I was younger only strep throat triggered a "flare" of increased symptoms ie ocd,anxiety,age regression,mood swings,foggy brain and other things. Sadly the disorder has developed so that I flare with any illness, not just strep) ANYWAYS 😂 I hope you enjoy this Fluff with a tiny pinch of angst. Just a tiny bit if you squint. Ace is my nickname for Chase and I've used it in other blurbs. I just think it's cute. Kinda like how I call Rudy Panky🙃

Chase was wrapping up a day on set, shoving all his belongings into a backpack. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and grabbed his keys ,leaving his casting trailer when his phone started ringing. He just realized he hadn’t heard from you all day. Seeing your name flash across the screen, he stopped in his tracks and answered. “Hey baby girl! I haven’t heard from you all day!” Chase exclaimed as he started to kick a rock around with his foot. “Sorry Ace. Please don’t freak out.I’m totally fine now but I'm in the hospital.” you explained slowly. Chase’s eyes grew large as he starred jogging to his car. "Don't tell me not to worry baby! Where are you? What happened?" Chase asked as he reached his car and fumbled with the keys, trying to move quickly in his panicked state. He swore under his breath as he dropped his keys and put you on speaker phone while he picked up his keys. You heard the rustling on the other end of the phone and grew nervous. "Chase! Babe are you OK? Calm down I promise I'm OK!" Rudy just so happened to be walking to his car when he heard your voice and saw Chase cursing at his car keys. "Hey dude! What's going on? You OK?" Rudy asked as he walked over to Chase. "Rudy! Y/n's in the hospital and I need to...I just can't.." Chase stuttered. Rudy grabbed the keys out of his hands. "I'll drive. You just talk to her." Rudy threw his stuff in the back of Chase's car as he hopped into the drivers seat and Chase ran around to the passenger seat. "OK sorry babe. Rudy is driving cause you're freaking me out. What happened?" Chase asked, running his hand through his wavy hair as Rudy pulled out of the set parking lot. "Thanks for taking care of him Rudy! I swear I'm fine! I'm at St. Marcus hospital. I think it's pretty close to town." Rudy picked up his phone and pulled up directions on his GPS before placing his phone in the cup holder so he could see the map. "No problem hun! Now tell us what happened before Chase pulls his hair out." Rudy answered ."Yeah you're scaring the shit out of me,Baby girl." Chase let out a breathy giggle.

"OK. Well I had my mom over and we were just hanging out watching TV and everything went black. Everything sounded echoey and I tried to open my eyes but it was like i had no control. I started convulsing and got sick. Mom called an ambulance and they brought me to the ER. The Er sent me here so I've been in the ambulance twice today!" You sighs. Chase nervously picked at his lips. "So what does that mean? Like did they run any tests yet?" Chase asked as Rudy broke a few traffic laws to get him to you quicker. "They have me hooked up to all these monitors and I'm going for an MRI tomorrow. The doctor said I most likely had a seizure." You explained as you looked at all the wires and iv lines covering your body. Chase let out a breathe that he didn't know he was holding. "OK baby. We will figure this out! Rudy, how far away are we?" Chase looked over at the blonde with red eyes, on the verge of tears. "It's right up here on the left." Rudy mumbled as he leaned over the steering wheel to make sure it was clear to turn. "OK babe. We just pulled into the parking lot. Where do I go?" Chase asked as he unbuckled his seat belt. "I'm on the 7th floor room 54." You said yawning. Rudy pulled up to the main entrance and stopped the car. "Go ahead man. I'll park the car and meet you up there." Rudy explained as Chase gave him a quick hug and jumped out of the car and jogged to the entrance. "OK I'm getting in the elevator now. Ill see you in 2 seconds OK? I'll be right there!" Chase babbled on as he put the phone up to his ear, taking it off speaker. "So how was work?" You asked trying to distract him a little. "Y/n as much as I wanna tell you about my day, I can't remember shit right now." Chase smirked as you hummed in response.

The elevator dinged and Chase got off the elevator and walked up to the nurses station. He put his phone on his shoulder so he wouldn't look rude for not giving the nurse his full attention. "Hello miss! My girlfriend is here somewhere. Room 54. Her name is y/f/n y/l/n. I can give you her birthday if you want to verify I'm not some weirdo." Chase said talking a mile a minute. The nurse just smiled and got up from her desk. "You must be Chase! She told us you were coming! Said you'd be the tall surfer guy with the chocolate brown eyes. Follow me." The nurse smiled before walking down the hall with Chase on her heels. She got to a door and knocked lightly before opening it. "Hey y/n! Surfer boy is here!" The nurse giggled as Chase walked through the door and the nurse closed it behind him. You were laying in the hospital bed with leads attached to your chest and stomach. You also had an iv in her arm and a couple stickers with wires on her head. Upon seeing Chase, you total lost all your composure and started sobbing. Chase rushed over to your side and gently hugged you close. "It's OK baby. I'm here. I've got you." Chase cooed as tears started to run down his face. You scooted over on the bed making room for Chase to lay down. He carefully made sure all the leads were out of the way and nothing was being pulled before tucking you into his chest. " It was so scary! I didn't know what was happening or why." You sniffed as you snuggled into his chest. "Shhhh. It's OK now. It's over. You're here now ad we will figure out what happened and why. Just relax baby." Chase cooed as he rubbed your back. A soft knock made you jump in your sleepy state. Chase said come in before kissing the top of your head, noticing the jolt of your body at the sudden noise. Rudy entered the room with Chase's backpack on his shoulder. "Hey y/n. How you feeling, sweetheart?" Rudy asked in a soft voice as he crouches down next to the bed. "I'm exhausted and confused as to what happened but I feel ok. Thank you for making sure Ace got here OK. I really appreciate it." You said while reaching out to grab Rudy's hand. "No problem at all! JD is coming to pick me up so Chase's car is here." Rudy explained before putting Chase's backpack down. "I thought you might want your bag." Rudy nods to Chase as he stands up. "Thanks man. I owe you one." Chase bumped his fist to Rudy's. "No you don't! You would have done the same for me. You rest up OK y/n? Don't let this guys puppy energy keep you up." Rudy said pointing between the two of you, which made you let out a small chuckle. "He smells like the ocean and is warm. I think I'll have no trouble falling asleep." You mumbles as you snuggles into Chase's chest again. Chase smirks ,holding you close. Rudy's phone dings and he waves good bye so he doesn't disturb the half asleep girl on Chase's chest.

You awoke from your nap to Chase still at your side. You smile up at him. "Sorry I fell asleep on you. You didn't have to stay." Chase opened his eyes lazily, drawing shapes on your arm with his finger. "No way am I leaving you baby. But since you're awake now. I really need to pee." Chase chuckled as he slowly scooted off the bed and walked to the bathroom on the other side of the room. You turned on the TV and sat up a little, looking at the screens and wires all around you. Chase came out of the bathroom, tossing a paper towel into the trash bin, before grabbing his bag from next to the bed. He pulled out his charger and plugged your phone in before putting it down on the table next to you.As he placed the bag down and sat next to you on the bed, a nurse knocked and entered the room. "Hey you two! I have extra sheets and blankets for you! This chair fold out into a lounger so you both don't have to smush together all night." The nurse explained as she sat the extra blankets and linen on the chair. "Thank you so much!" Chase beamed as the nurse came over to your bed side to check all your vitals. "Is there anything I should look for overnight?" Chase asked the nurse."Well if she has any convulsions or gets sick, press this call button." The nurse said pointing to the red button on the wall. "Other than that, if anything has you worried press the button and we will come make sure everything is OK." The nurse smiled as she finished getting your blood pressure and typed the vitals into her laptop before leaving the room. Chase got up from his seat on the bed and opened up the lounger chair, putting on the different sheets ad blankets. "You know, you don't have to sleep here just because I was admitted." You smile watching his basically throw blankets round until he was satisfied. He came and laid down next to you again before pecking your lips. "I told you ,baby. I'm here with you for everything. We'll figure this out together." Chase cooed as he pulled you closer and watched SpongeBob with you on his chest, running his ringers through your hair. "I love you, Ace." You said before kissing his hand. "I love you more,Baby girl."

*photo cred to pintrest*

Taglist:

@afterglowsb-tch13 @cherryobx @sunwardsss @yourlocalauthor @starkeymarkey @k-k0129 @royalpogue @ilovejjmaybank @beatement-l @miniatureauthorpartyspy @bxmaaa @allielozoya @shawnsthighs @i-love-scott-mccall @lilbabyharrys @dannii-li

Comment tag list on any of my writing to be added❤️

88 notes · View notes

headoverhiddles · 5 years ago

Text

I Spit On Your Garage - Tatum Riley (Scream) x Reader [Smut/Fluff]

Synopsis: You and your girlfriend do your best to survive the killings plaguing Woodsboro, while being the cutest couple around.

Notes: Here's your daily reminder that my little bi heart cries for Tatum always 🙃

You have the house to yourself this weekend, so naturally, you find your girlfriend to invite her over.

"Tate!" you shout across the school lawn. She comes running over to you in her black and white cropped jersey.

"Hey, babe. What's up?" She gives you a quick kiss and takes your arm, her usual cheerful self. You walk up to the doors with her, joining Sidney and saying hi to her.

"Parents are out of town," you tell her. She squeezes your arm excitedly, gasping.

"Say no more. I'm bringing ice cream, sparkling wine, and handcuffs."

You blush, and Sidney covers her ears.

"Catch you two later," she laughs, and dashes off before she has to hear any more about your sex life. That's when Stu makes his presence known from behind you two.

"You were saying?"

"Get outta here," Tatum beats her ex's shoulder with her bag.

"Oww! Just wanted to say, there's a party tomorrow night at Sid's."

"Oh. Does... Sidney know about this?" you ask him.

"Not yet. But her dad's out of town, so we'll drop the suggestion to her." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Whatever," Tatum mutters, "We might make it. If we're not too busy with our tongues in strange places."

You cover your mouth, giggling, and Stu looks at you two in awe.

"Aw, man... why'd we never do that?"

"You never made me cum with your dick, why should it be any different with your tongue?"

You and Tatum slap each other a high five, then a low five, as Stu grumbles.

"See you two at the party tomorrow night."

You both mumble your agreement, distracted by one another. Tatum gives you a playful little lick on the cheek, and blows you a kiss as she runs off to her English class, blonde braids bobbing behind her.

"I love you! You're adorable!" you call after her.

"You're sexy! I love you too!" she calls back, running backward, and nearly trips over Freddy the janitor.

As you continue walking down the hall, books hugged close to your chest, your lovesick smile fades. It had been an unnerving week. Casey Becker and her boyfriend Steve had been murdered... like, gross-out murdered. They found her hanging from a tree by her intestines. That's some serious horror movie shit.

The thing is, they haven't caught the killer yet. He's still out there, somewhere in Woodsboro, waiting to strike again...

The voice of reason, aka your girlfriend, returns to your head, telling you there's no way it's not an isolated incident. But as you take your seat in Spanish, all you can think of is a white mask, mouth as long and dark as Casey Becker's casket.

Later that night, at your place, Tatum arrives faithfully with all the items she said she'd bring. She collapses onto your bed, getting into one of your T-shirts. You're in your bra and panties, the LA heat stifling tonight.

"Hey... pretty spooky about what happened to Casey and Steve, huh?" you say, drawing your curtains closed as the sun finally goes down on your remote property.

"Yeah. It's hitting Sid real hard, since it's the anniversary of... y'know."

"Right." You tie up your hair. "Silly, I know, but I've been looking over my shoulder, making sure my windows are locked and stuff."

"I don't know, man," she hums, "It creeps me out, but we're pretty set. We've got Randy, who knows exactly what to do and what not to do to survive a horror movie."

"True. Plus, your brother's a cop."

"Debatable."

"He's got influence in the local law enforcement," you correct, smiling and sauntering past her.

"Also debatable." She snorts. "The doofus wouldn't know the killer if he was stabbing him in the face."

"Don't joke about that," you mutter, tossing a strewn pair of panties at her, "I like Dewey."

"Yeah," your girlfriend inspects her nails, "I do too."

You peek up through the hole to make sure you turned the porch light out.

"Huh."

"What?" Tatum calls, blowing on her nails to cool.

"It's just weird... there must be something blocking the peephole. I tried to look out but it's all black."

Tatum is quiet for a second, and her silence makes you hesitate as well. "You don't think...?" you begin to mutter, and Tatum glances up.

"Don't worry, babe. It's probably some kids or something, stuck some gum over it. It was just Halloween, could've been a prank."

"Yeah," you agree, not believing a word of her theory. You walk back over, hold your breath, and take another look. A chill runs through you as you see that the peephole is now unblocked.

"Tatum--"

"Mmshhh," she mumbles, her arms sliding around your middle from behind. Her face presses into your back, and she starts kissing the back of your neck, "Let's not forget, we have the place to ourselves. We shouldn't worry about stupid perverts probably trying to watch."

You huff, making sure the door is locked. Then you turn around, to face your persistent girlfriend. Tatum gives that evil smirk, licking her bottom lip slowly as she begins to unbutton your blouse.

"You know," you smile, taking her hands and leading her back toward the bedroom, "Having sex is on Randy's no-no list of surviving a scary movie."

Tatum rolls her eyes. "Randy just can't get laid, and he wants everyone to suffer with him."

"Maybe he's got a point," you tease, moving the two of you to the bed so that Tatum is laying underneath you. Her blonde hair splays out around her head as she stares up at you, amused. "I mean... have you seen Friday the 13th? That whole franchise is about killing horny teenagers."

"Yeah well, we're immune. The rule doesn't apply to lesbian sex. Have you ever seen two girls in one of those movies bite it for having sex? Nope." She pops her 'p' with those perfect lips.

You burst into giggles, and she giggles with you, wrapping her arms around your neck. You concede, pressing your lips to hers, and her giggles turn to moans as you thread your fingers softly through her hair.

"You look like an angel, laying on a halo of hair," you mutter, and she raises an eyebrow.

"What the hell was that?"

"I heard it in a country song," you giggle, and her face blooms into a beautiful smile.

"It's sweet. You know, nobody's ever been this nice to me in a relationship, (y/n). It's nice to feel... appreciated."

"Ditto." You kiss her cheek, and her hands find your panties, fingers sliding in. She's giving that vixen look again that gets you weak. She tugs your panties down, and patters her fingers along your inner thighs, as if she doesn't know what to do with them.

"Mmm," you moan, and she grins, finally moving one finger to rub your clit. You shudder, and she tips your chin so that you look into her eyes. She then goes down, crawling down the bed like a panther until she gets between your legs. Her tongue darts out, and she teases around you for a moment, before going for your sweet spot. She moans.

"You taste so good."

"God," you breathe, fisting at the sheets, "Tate, Tate... baby, I don't deserve you."

"Yes you do. You really do," she replies, and goes back down on you, licking your clit and dipping every now and then a little lower to taste your wetness. After a few minutes of this, hearing her soft moans between your legs, seeing her head bob and move and feeling her tongue slide, you're going to climax.

"I'm-- I'm so close," you gasp, and she swirls her tongue around your bud as you ride your orgasm out.

"What a good little girl," she grins.

You reach down, pulling her up into another kiss as you roll her on top of you. She pulls her panties off, biting her pink lip, and as she continues rubbing you, you slip two fingers into her, curving them and letting her lower down.

"Ahhh, oh god, yeah," she groans. She's always the dramatically loud one in bed. It's a super good thing no one's home.

She starts to ride your fingers hard, and you reach up with your other hand to grab her breasts, taking turns massaging them. She does like it rough sometimes, and so do you, but tonight, she's more in control. She rides your fingers even harder, gasping out your name.

"(y/n)... (y/n), make me cum... am I doing good?"

"So good Tate, sweetheart. So good for me."

"I need to--"

"Fuck my fingers, my pretty little slut," you smile, and she tilts her head back, hitting her own orgasm. You take your fingers out, and lick them clean as Tatum crawls up beside you on the bed contentedly, sliding under your arm and smiling hazily.

You're about to go in for another kiss, when the phone on the wall downstairs rings. You groan, and Tatum grabs your bra strap.

"Don't leave me. I'm scared." When you turn back to look, you see she's trying not to laugh. You roll your eyes.

"God, it could be my parents!" She gives up, and follows you down the stairs in a bathrobe she found. Just as you're getting down to the kitchen, the ringing stops... you must have missed the call.

"They'll call back if it's important," Tatum shrugs, and motions for your hand. Then the phone rings again. You both turn to look at it.

"Hello?" you answer. As you're trying to focus on whoever is on the line, Tatum takes it upon herself to slowly give you a striptease with the fluffy pink robe, undoing the tie, sliding it down her shoulder to expose one of her breasts. "H-hello?" you repeat, eyes wide as you watch your girlfriend. She opens her mouth in an 'o', presenting her boob like a game show woman would present a prize.

You giggle, and a voice finally speaks over the line.

"What's so funny?"

Distracted, you turn away, still smiling. "Dude, who is this?"

"I asked you first."

"My girlfriend's making me laugh. Randy? Is that you?" Tatum starts to slip the robe all the way off. She kicks it away with her foot, and saunters toward you.

"Talk fast, cause I'm three seconds away from hanging up," you bite your lip, dying to touch Tatum again.

"You hang up on me you little bitch, I'll cut your fucking head off."

Your stomach drops, and Tatum immediately notices the alarm in your expression. She hangs over your shoulder, trying to hear.

"Who is it?" she whispers.

"Uh..." you breathe. "It's... I..."

"(y/n)?"

"I don't..."

Tatum takes the phone. "Who is this?!" she demands.

"Oh. Just somebody who wants to talk."

"Talk to someone else, we're busy."

"I want to talk to you."

"Well, I want a million bucks and you to hang up."

"You must be the funny girlfriend."

"Look. What did you say to my girlfriend, creep?! She looks like she saw a ghost!"

"She will. And so will you."

The line goes dead, and Tatum looks at the phone, frowning. You've never seen her so unsettled, but as usual, she tries to hide it under a breezy smile.

"Ah, don't worry about it. Prank call."

"Yeah," you bite your nail, and Tatum picks up the robe, taking your arm and leading you away. You get into bed upstairs, and before she joins you, she makes doubly sure the doors are locked.

---

You and Tatum arrive at Sidney's around 10, and end up sitting on the couch, making out for a bit. Tatum's a little bit tipsy by 10:30, and you had a few hits off a joint, so the two of you are having a good time. Sid's upstairs with Billy, "talking".

Stu, Randy, and a couple others are sitting on the couch opposite you two.

"Tate, would you get us some more beers?" Stu asks. She glares at him.

"What am I, the beer wench?"

"I'll come too," you grin, thinking of the privacy you two'd get in the garage. Then Randy turns Halloween on the TV, and you gasp. It's your favorite horror movie.

"You stay here and be my cute little nerd," she pats your head and kisses it, "I'll be right back."

"You shouldn't say that," Randy calls.

"Why not?" you ask him, grabbing some popcorn.

"Rule of thumb in a horror movie. If you say I'll be right back, you never come back."

"Hey, careful, Wes Craven," you scoff, "That's my girlfriend you're talking about." Randy puts his hands up. "Besides, why are you so convinced we're living in a horror movie?"

"The body count is rising, (y/n)."

He shuts up when Stu starts making 'woooo' ghost noises, but you start to worry. Randy's right. There was another murder today, and you had gotten that strange phone call last night...

In the garage, Tatum opens the mini fridge and picks out some beer bottles, filling her arms. She hums 'Sweet Dreams' to herself as she kicks the fridge door closed, and hears a rustling behind her.

"So, you gonna help me break all these over Stu's head when we get get back in there?" she asks. She nearly jumps when she turns and sees someone other than you standing by the door. "Oh, shit. Thought you were (y/n). Randy?" The costumed figure shakes his head. "Oh, okay. What movie is this from, I spit on your garage?"

She tries to move past him with a dismissive huff, but she looks down to see a knife in his hand. Her smile fades, and she backs up.

"I think I'm gonna go check on Tatum," you tell Randy.

"Oh, come on! This is the best part!"

"Randy, it's 12 minutes in, Michael hasn't even escaped the hospital yet."

You hop over the back of the couch, and make your way down to Sid's garage.

"Oh beer wench!" you call down the hall, "What're you doing in there, brewing it yourself?" You can't really hear her inevitable snarky reply over the beat of the music, so you keep walking.

Inside, Tatum backs away from the killer.

"You better stay far away from me, asshole," she warns, and when he takes a step, she throws a bottle at his balls. It shatters, and he doubles over, giving her a chance to run. The only way out is through the doggy door... she doesn't know if she can fit, but it's preferable to getting stabbed.

You hear a faint crash, and the sound of the garage door opening. You rush the rest of the way there.

"Tatum!" you scream, and push the door open. She's stuck in the doggy door, and it's going up. You scream again, and tackle the tall figure in the costume out of sheer protectiveness. You take a nearby crate, and break it over his head, making sure he's good and down before you get up.

"(y/n)!" Tatum calls weakly, eyes wide as she looks her death right in the face. You run over, grabbing her hands and helping pull her out of there before the door reaches the ceiling. She holds tight to you, and falls into your arms, crying into your chest.

"It's okay," you whisper, stroking her hair. She finally pulls away, wiping her trailing mascara.

"You literally saved my life."

"Um. Yeah?" you breathe. She surges forward with a deep kiss.

"I god damn love you, (y/n)."

You two leave out the garage door, unwilling to step over the unconscious killer, and from your portable phone, you dial Dewey's number. You have to hold the phone away from your ear as he shouts about Tatum. She snatches the phone, sniffling.

"I'm okay, doofus. Yes, of course, (y/n) was there. She's my hero. Or heroine." She bats her eyelashes at you, then her expression sours. "No, Dewey, I'm not on heroin! I almost died, asshole! No-- I don't know, I didn't stop to check who! See you soon. Don't tell mom."

You two sit, waiting for the cops and paramedics, hand in hand as people start to file out of the party, wondering what the hell happened.

"So... why'd you go out through the dog door?"

She laughs. "Do not start with me. I panicked, okay?"

"But the dog door? Really, Tate? With those boobs?"

"You know I have one brain cell, and it died when I saw the guy with the knife." You just hug her close to you.

At least she's still alive-- that's all that matters.

267 notes · View notes

kinetic-elaboration · 4 years ago

Text

October 25: 1x20 Court Martial

Now that Chopped is done I am free to watch TOS again. Today’s ep: Court Martial, a wonderful combination of two of my favorite things: Captain Kirk and Legal Stuff.

Look at that backdrop. I forgot how many Very 50′s backgrounds they had in this show.

The Intrepid is here for repairs! Such a lost opportunity to show more Vulcans in Starfleet.

I don’t entirely get why the Commodore has his own special transport pad. I guess it must allow him to beam himself places without the use of a ship but like... to where is he beaming?

Lol that absolutely terrible sailor suit outfit on the little girl. I can only assume it’s a school uniform as it’s the only thing she ever wears.

Can you believe how this whole episode is based, essentially, around allegedly broken regulations? I mean I know it’s more than that and they do a good job explaining why it’s bad to eject the pod early (”when there is no emergency”) but like, essentially, the underlying conditions of emergency are not in Kirk’s control. It’s possible to just skip officially calling the emergency while nevertheless acting in a way that is appropriate for an emergency, and so it comes down to “did he first declare the emergency officially and then act in accordance with the declared emergency or did he just skip the first step?” rather than “did he act too quickly?” since HE was the one who determined if the conditions warranted an emergency.

Having said all that I still don’t get what an ion pod is or where it was or why it had to be ejected at all. Or how Finney got out of the pod if it was ejected.

Vulcanian expedition?!?

Kirk’s default voice is just flirty; I’m sorry but it is. Even talking to his old school classmates, who are VERY quick to judge him harshly and hate on him, implying they were probably never friends, he’s All Charm by default. And he doesn’t drop the charm even when he starts politely fighting with them.

Bones using Jim to flirt--with Jim’s ex-girlfriend! “Did you see that guy over there, he’s pretty famous, and we’re friends!”

I love Areel Shaw and I’m just gonna say I think she’s my favorite Kirk girlfriend.

Charged with culpable negligence. As opposed to...not culpable negligence?

When he was a midshipman...

What’s with all these professor & student friendships??

I cannot believe part of the Finney & Kirk backstory is that he literally named his daughter after Kirk. Like that’s so intense! I feel like it kind of changes everything but I can’t entirely untangle how.

This “I can’t believe you filed a report about my error” backstory is literally the beginning of STID except Kirk is the Spock of this scenario.

Star Trek: Law and Order. Bum bum.

This whole idea of pitting Kirk against a computer is clever in that people to this day are like “but computers are infallible?” but also dumb because Kirk >>> Computer obviously.

Having drinks with the ex and he turns the charm up to 11.

All of this is wildly unethical, from her telling him about the prosecution’s case, to her BEING the prosecution.

I actually read an article recently about this isn’t, or shouldn’t be, her job as prosecutor, to drum him out of the service in disgrace. Her job should be to find the truth in a more neutral way.

Wtf are all these totally useless federal reporters doing here?

I’m a pro-book person but this is a HILARIOUS anti-computer speech. Like--the law is in the computer dude! It is! It’s the same law as in the books. Intergalactic Westlaw is available to you. And then he goes off on this weird rant about Moses, like--dude, Moses isn’t in the reporters OR Westlaw OR whatever Starfleet code is actually at issue here.

Kirk likes him though.

Shaw in the dress uniform with the long skirt hot damn.

Not even the computer can pronounce Spock’s full name. And he’s been demoted again.

Vulcanian Scientific Legion of Honor.

Spock isn’t having any of this. “I don’t dispute it. I just... actually I do dispute it because it’s nonsense.”

His entire testimony is the equivalent of “You don’t have all the facts.” / “Which are?” / “I love him.”

The defense doesn’t need to question him because he’s already testified for the defense.

This is such a hilarious use of McCoy. For the first time ever we’re told he’s actually a psychologist on top of being a surgeon and GP and then his whole testimony isn’t even really medical? It’s just like wild speculation, which being a doctor and an “expert in psychology” somehow qualifies him to provide?

I love how Kirk’s service record just goes on and on and on. Areel doesn’t do herself any favors objecting to it; that just draws attention to it. As the defense lawyer knows by insisting it continuing and then cutting it off for being comically long.

Kirk: “I can be level-headed in an emergency. This wasn’t my first rodeo.”

This chair design is SO BAD. I know it needs to be like this for the plot but omg putting the pod release button on the chair at all (like does the captain have to jettison pods a lot?) and then especially directly under the red alert button, and then putting both of them just out there without any kind of cover or anything--that’s just waiting for someone to lean on his chair arm and make a deadly mistake.

Also nothing else is even labeled lmao.

This is a very impressive deep fake.

This whole ion storm does not really seem like a scary emergency situation lol. It seems like Kirk and everyone else are basically keeping their heads.

“You may be able to beat your next Captain at chess” Kirk as chess master confirmed.

“I didn’t realize how close you and my father were even though I was literally named after you.”

Obligatory Bones accuses Spock of not caring about Jim scene.

“Why thank you, Doctor, my blood is very cold.”

I can’t believe Spock programmed the computer to play chess with him. Probably so he could practice for Jim.

The lawyer’s outfit is hilarious: little pocket for a pen in front. Is he... a civilian lawyer? Is that even allowed?

Here is talking about the Bible again. And the Magna Carta. First, it’s always funny when a bunch of real things are followed by some fake science fiction things. And second, he’s pretty obviously just talking about the Constitution, and like maybe a very tiny bit about the Magna Carta. There’s no right to counsel in the Bible.

Really glad to know the Martians care about the right to an attorney though. And that the Alpha 3 Colonies protect the right of confrontation.

I bet Spock is unimpressed with this Drama.

Why did they change out of their dress uniforms?

How convenient that Finney was one of only three people who could change the computer. I mean I guess this is a permissions thing--but why would the records officer have that? Not that I know what a records officer is.

“White noise device” you can’t fool me, that’s a microphone.

Also another hilarious use of McCoy. Do they really NEED the ship’s surgeon to put a microphone against people’s chests? “Don’t mind me, just stealing your heartbeats.”

Like the general concept of this is nifty story telling but some of the details are....uh.... funny.

Captain’s log: “We brought a young girl onto the ship even when it’s in a dangerous position so we could use her against her father.”

Finney really was playing the looooooong game of revenge lol. And yet it still doesn’t seem well thought out. What was the next part of his plan? Somehow get back OFF the ship once Kirk’s career is ruined, and then live the rest of his life under an assumed name? Never seeing his daughter again? No Starfleet career even though it’s allegedly so important to him? Seems a little bit like everyone loses.

Lol not letting Spock leave the bridge because the court martial’s not ever. “Sorry, we all might die, but court IS still in session.” Even though they ALREADY KNOW the alleged victim is still alive!

I love that Uhura is essential personnel. They didn’t keep the navigator on board, even though they apparently need one, but they did keep Uhura.

Oh no, Kirk’s flimsy shirt, falling apart again!

“Beaten and sobbing, Finney told me how to fix the ship.” Bitter much?

Kirk, being a badass, fixing the ship all by himself.

Honestly I just really love a narrative in which an upright man plays by the rules, does the right thing, and behaves in good faith and is ultimately vindicated and rewarded.

Now everyone agrees there’s no crime and thus no point to continuing the court-martial.

He’s defending Ben Finney! Good luck with that.

I love how Kirk’s face goes from full-on-romance to slightly-embarrassed-serious-Captain as soon as he remembers, hey, I really AM on the bridge!

“She’s a very good lawyer.” / “Obviously.”

This was such a good Kirk episode, both for showing off all his good qualities, and for getting some interesting insight into his character. He strikes me as the kind of person who, because he’s so by-the-book, and because he’s smart and successful, inspires jealousy in other people, and thus has a lot of strained acquaintanceships--like with the other men at the bar. But he also has these really, really strong friendships and relationships: Areel Shaw, Spock and McCoy, and even Finney. I feel like he’s probably rather awkward with most people, but then when the relationship is established, he’s ride or die. And, he doesn’t hold grudges. I don’t think he really knew how upset Finney was about what happened literally 10+ years ago--especially if he had any say at all about Finney serving on his ship, and I suspect he could have at least vetoed him. And even after Finney tried to disgrace him and then actually kill him, he still didn’t seem to upset about it, or about his lawyer turning around and defending Finney.

I think Kirk likes the military in part because it gives him this very strict set of rules about interacting with other people, so he doesn’t have to make up his own. I bet the intensity of the service also allows him to form these stronger relationships, which do seem to suit him better. And when he doesn’t have anything else to fall back on, he INVARIABLY pulls out the charm: he does it with old classmates, random 21st century pilots, immortal teenage girls, and actual love interests. It’s his default mode. I think that makes sense for someone who’s very ambitious, very precise, very nerdy, very rules-oriented, and whose default mode as a young man, by his own admission, was “grim.”

Wow it is so much later than anticipated... I need to get to sleep!

Next ep is Return of the Archons, which I’ve only seen once and don’t remember super well. I think it’s a ‘society ruled by computers’ thing, which is fine. Maybe not as much of a classic as some other S1 eps, but it should be fun anyway.

#the year 2020 #2020: star trek #2020: fandom thoughts #star trek tos

4 notes · View notes

tabikato · 4 years ago

Link

Chapter 6 of my #DragonAge fanfic is up!! Time for Alistair and Hue to take the tower! It’s an hour or two before Alistair finds their new warden again. They had carried him to one of the tents to sleep off the Joining, the physical stress almost as bad as the mental. However, when he came to check up on him, the elf was nowhere to be found...blankets tossed to the side and weapons gone. A sinking feeling of losing the third one had him rushing out the tent and scouring the area. He really didn't want to deliver this news to Senior Warden. Hey Duncan, so seems we have NO recruits, why? Well, I do believe the third one just took a permanent vacation away from here. The fear was short-lived when he saw the familiar puff of blonde hair...lone figure sitting rather still as if he’d find some answers in the dancing embers and ash of the campfire. Hue heard the footsteps from behind but didn’t bother to turn around...didn’t feel a need or want to face the other at this moment.

“There you are, thought you made a run for it.” Alistair’s head dropped as soon as he'd stopped talking, really great choice of words there. Solid.

“Would have just killed me like you did Jory.” There was no anger or spite in his tone, only resignation...as if those were merely facts of life and he had come to term with them. It didn’t feel right to hear such a desolate tone from the usually high-energy elf but Alistair supposes the situation was a heavy one. After all...Hue wasn’t entirely wrong so there wasn’t any way the human could dispute those words.

“We lost one in my Joining as well, it was horrible. I doubt I will ever get used to it”, Hue looked sideways as Alistair sat next to him, voice whispering with somber tints, “I’m glad at least one of you made it through.” Brown met red as they looked at each other for a moment, Hue rolling this information around in his head. The Joining was secret because not many people would willingly give up their lives for a chance...yet Gray Wardens are needed to stop the Blight or else everyone dies. Even knowing that he knew, deep down, not many people would see the sacrifice as necessary. Death is scary...dying is scary, he joined in order to escape death and only went through with it because no matter his outcome there would always be death. It didn’t seem fair to anyone involved...but then he thinks of Daveth who was not dying and willingly drank from that cup, knowing his sacrifice meant the world. Of Alistair who also drank, a chance he might die but taking that plunge.

This was making his head hurt.

“I don’t like thinking too much on this complicated stuff”, Hue finally spoke up, piecing together the thoughts he needed to say, “and I don’t think it’s fair but...I know Gray Wardens save people. They sacrifice so they can so I don’t think you guys are bad people. And now I can protect people too.” Blowing some strands of his hair from his face, he turns to glance at the other Warden. Alistair looked in thought but nodded, seeming to accept Hue’s decision.

“I’m glad you’re here to stay with us.”

“So you’re not the junior anymore? Or you’d be lonely?” Barely a beat passed before a smirk made its way onto the elf’s face, lightly punching the human in the arm.

“First off, ow. Second, OW. Why are you always aiming where it hurts?”

“You’re a really big target”, Alistair looked as if he was going to pout, mouth open to remind Hue who was in charge here but...the one who was in charge spoke up to them.

“Alistair. Hue. The King wishes to speak with us, come to the war table when you are able.” Duncan’s voice knocked their jovialness back in line, both men sitting straight up and replying with a “yes, sir”. Watching the older man walk off, Hue stood up to join Duncan before Alistair stopped him.

“Wait. Here…”, he held out a simple pendant; dirty gold with a reddish hue in the open glass and placed it in Hue’s hand, “ we take some of the blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us...of those who didn’t make it this far.” Gently he pulls out a similar one from inside his own armor and Hue's eyes widened before he nodded.

“Gotcha.” Slipping it over his head, he buried it within his shirt, cold metal burning into skin with the reminder that his heart was beating. He was still alive.

Odd. That’s about all he could describe that meeting with the King and the man named Loghain. Supposedly they were family...King’s wife being his daughter or something, it didn’t really matter to him. What was odd was how much disdain the two had for each other and neither kept it a secret. Yet nobody said anything about it, ignoring it like it was a mild breeze tossing through their hair. In his clan things were settled if there were disputes, whether by the Keeper or by one of their laws. Everyone was family in a way and they all had to cooperate to survive, to keep the clan running, so petty squabbles disrupting the order were very much frowned upon.

So why did they have to suffer through this? Duncan and Alistair seemed quite used to ignoring it so Hue surmised this was definitely a human thing. Were humans always this petty? Well...okay, maybe not all the humans he met were but some of them had made it really far on the list. Thinking back to the meeting it was also odd that Hue and Alistair were even there; they were juniors and weren’t in any sort of decision-making position. This idea seemed to be shared with Loghain and despite the man’s rather unpleasant scowl, Hue couldn’t help but think he made some fair points. Normally you would not have the clan’s leader out in front, one wrong move and their death was too great of a loss. The Gray Wardens made more sense to fight the darkspawn head on, with the armies as support, but the King refused to listen, wanting to play hero with them.

What an idiot. Oh, they’re arguing again...this is boring.

“They are, your majesty.” Duncan’s voice knocked him out of his self-inflicted daze, noticing that both he and Alistair were being addressed now.

“And this is the recruit I met earlier on the road? I understand congratulations are in order.” Congratulations? Hue squints a little, mouth forming a thin line as he tries to digest those words. The King stood there, waiting for an answer with a stupid smile on his face and Hue almost considered telling him where he could stuff that congratulations until Duncan cleared his throat. Fine.

“Not sure what for? I’m not special.” And he wasn’t, in his mind. True he managed to pass the Joining which apparently did make something special out of him but managing to stay alive when two others died didn’t seem like a skill to him. That was pure luck and luck, to him, didn’t make him special or feel favoured in any way.

“Oh, but you are. Every Gray Warden is needed now more than ever.” Cailin’s puffed up pride was quickly cut down by Loghain. Good thing too because neither man noticed Hue quietly mocking those words which caused a rather funny snort to come from Alistair’s throat.

“Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailin”, the old man didn’t even hide his annoyance, scolding the King right in his face, “We must attend to reality!”

“Fine. Speak your strategy. The Gray Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines and then…?”

“You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge from cover.” Silver and Gold flinted in the candlelight surrounding the map as both men leaned in, metal fingers drawing paths along the lines and symbols. So...they were going to be on the front line, huh? Hue could use a dagger but he worked better with his bow, were there any high spots out in front? Some of the stone facings could be climbed and he’d have enough height for his shots, that way he could cover Duncan, Alistair, and the rest.

“Then we should send our best. Send Alistair and the new Gray Warden to make sure it’s done.” Wait...what? Blinking, he stared back over at the armored men. What were he and Alistair supposedly doing now? Lighting a tower?

“You mean we won’t be fighting in the battle?” His mouth moved on its own, brows creased as he realised exactly what this meant. Should have known...the bottom of the group is always made into errand boys.

“We need the beacon. Without it, Loghain’s men won’t know when to charge.” He really wanted to argue that lighting a stupid fire wasn’t what he signed himself up for but then remembered he didn’t exactly sign up in the first place. Oh, whatever. There’d be plenty more darkspawn to fight later he’s sure of it.

“You see? Glory for everyone!” Considering he didn’t want to become a pincushion he kept the thought of wiping that dumb smile off this human’s face to himself. Loghain started in on the King again...Duncan tried to intervene but was shot down by them both and oh look, more humans coming to the argue party. Why is it such a hard concept for them all to work together? Darkspawn or Archdemon, it won’t care who it kills only that it kills and they’re going to make it easier for them to kill if everyone is running around like agitated chickens. No wonder the other hunters always called humans a rightful mess, how do they even manage to get anything done with all this bickering?

“Enough!” Oh finally. “This plan will suffice. The Gray Wardens will light the beacon.” Loghain’s dark eyes met with Hue’s red, the elf staring back with no readable emotion. The old man took this as his cue to turn and leave.

“Thank you, Loghain. I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Gray Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil!” Cailin’s head tilted up in pride, chest puffed out as much as one could in heavy armor.

“Yes, Cailan. A glorious moment for us all.”

“You heard the plan. You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit.” Back at the bonfire Duncan reiterated the plan, pointing to both men to ensure they heard it well. These two as individuals tend to run on the reckless side but both together, alone, as a team. Duncan wasn’t sure what the outcome would be but he knew they’d at least follow his orders. Of course he expected them both to complain about it considering their personalities.

“So he needs two Gray Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?” There was no hiding the sarcasm in Alistair’s voice. He crossed his arms, cocking a brow in visible annoyance.

“Like he said, we’re better off being in battle! Not babysitting a torch!”

“That is not your choice!” Hue's mouth snapped shut as Duncan’s voice grew firmer, “If King Cailan wishes Gray Wardens to ensure the beacon is lit, then Gray Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn...exciting or no.” Hue wanted to argue the fact that Cailan was no king of his and Gray Wardens should be fighting darkspawn, not falling in line to the whims of royalty.

“I get it. I get it. Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.” Indignant reply forgotten, Hue snorted out a laugh at Alistair’s dry delivery.

“Dunno, that’d be a great distraction.”

“Me shimmying down the darkspawn line? Sure, we could kill them while they roll around laughing.” Duncan sighed as these two laughed at this ridiculous idea, letting them have a moment to get it out of their system.

“Who says they wouldn’t find you charming?” Hue’s laugh went louder as Alistair huffed out a mixture of disgust at the notion and laughter at how stupid it was.

“Do you think I’d look fetching enough?”

“Why not? Go for a red dress though.”

“Are you two quite done?” Both looked away from each other, like two children being scolded, trying to stifle the grins that refuse to leave their faces and Duncan just sighs once more. “The Tower is on the other side of the gorge from the King’s camp, the way we came when we arrived. We will signal you when the time is right. Alistair will know what to look for. Do not leave this task to join the battle, this is of the utmost importance and I am trusting you two.” With that last bit both men stood up a little straighter, their focus more serious. Seems they were willing to prove they were worthy of that trust.

“What if the Archdemon appears?”

“We soil our drawers, that’s what.” Alistair couldn’t help himself and both men almost fell into laughter again before Duncan's sharp look halted them.

“If it does, leave it to us. I want no heroics from either of you.”

“Never. Heroics is what the King does.” Rubbing his temples, he lets Hue have this one before continuing with his instructions. Alistair only raised an eyebrow on that, thinking to ask Hue later why he was so...aggressive in his speech towards the King. The elf certainly didn’t take that tone with either him or Duncan so maybe something was said...done? Nothing came to mind however.

“There will be plenty of battles for both of you later”, Duncan added on, crossing his arms, he looked over his two juniors, “I must join the others. From here, you two are on your own. Remember, you are both Gray Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title.” With a nod he walked down towards his troops, that nagging feeling he has felt for weeks never leaving him but they would be prepared...they had to be. Watching the older man leave, Hue looked from Duncan’s back to the skyline and to the silhouette of the tower they would soon be climbing.

“Well then…”, Alistair’s voice broke through his thoughts, “let’s get on our dancing shoes and go put on a show.” Patting the elf on the back, their grins grew once more as they began their preparations.

Sheer chaos were the only words Hue could think of to perfectly describe the scenes flitting past him. Alistair and him couldn’t stop, running across the bridge and dodging fallen soldiers and rocks smashing against the stone surface. Screams shattered through the sounds of explosions and rock, through the roar of the crowd below and fire engulfing the unlucky bodies of targets found. Adrenaline surged in his veins, letting him make it through the narrow run of the bridge and up into the courtyard where they met with some of Cailan’s men and...darkspawn.

“Darkspawn have taken the tower!”

“How?!”, he could hear Alistair’s shout over the clanging of swords and the tearing of flesh, another creature fell to his blade. One of Hue's arrows sunk deep into the open throat of one charging at them, crumpling to the ground in a heap.

“They flooded in and took the lower chambers!”

“Then we have to get to the beacon and light it ourselves!” With a plan set in motion, they fought their way to the entrance of the tower, not stopping to look back even once. Each floor was filled with them, with traps that Hue disarmed in a blink of an eye and soon a path of red followed. At some point he couldn’t tell if the red was from human or darkspawn and really, he’d rather not think about it. The smell itself was a bit distracting but even more so was that the further they went up, the stronger it was instead of less.

“We won? Yay, we won, haha..ow...ow, yay…”, Alistair piped up behind him as they slayed yet another room of creatures with their two nameless companions. His strained cheers were left unanswered, noticing the elf was far too focused on the large doors up the stairs, nose scrunched up in a worried look. “Hue?”

“Why are we fighting more the higher we go?” Eyes went wide with realization, the number of bodies indeed looked way too numerous for how much they’ve climbed.

“Maker’s breath...what are they doing here?”, sheathing his sword he walked up to his companion, stepping over a few shredded corpses in the process, “There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance here!”

“You could try telling them they’re in the wrong place.”

“Right. Because clearly this is all just a misunderstanding. We’ll laugh about this later.” An elbow on his arm made Hue turn, seeing the serious look on the other’s face, “At any rate, we need to hurry! We need to get up to the top of the tower and light the signal fire in time! Teyrn Loghain is waiting!” No disagreement there. Nodding, he makes his way up the stairs, throwing the doors open as they stumble into yet another battle.

Even with his usual stamina Hue was definitely feeling the strain with each wave hitting them harder than the last. What was probably only minutes seemed like an eternity as body after body fell to either his arrows or Alistair’s sword. At least in the midst of this mess the two managed to create some sort of unspoken team work, flawlessly watching the other’s back. No praise or congratulations were to be had though, they had to keep pushing...up until the last door of the tower in which they wasted no time marching through.

Which, Hue would think later on, was probably the worst idea they had all night as they came face to face with a gigantic monster. Hearing their approach, it stopped it’s feast on whatever unlucky corpse it had killed and turned to face them. Horns gnarled and twisting reached to the heavens, skin a sickly gray as it stretched over muscles that seemed to want to burst forth. It’s face was cracked and rough like the bark of an old tree with pearl-colored eyes sunk deep in the sockets. However Hue noticed something far worse about this enormous monstrosity, the large mouth of jagged teeth as it’s roar shook them all to their core. What little armor it had on did nothing to make it less frightening...those teeth and claws more than made up for it.

Jumping back, Hue let loose a few arrows into its chest once it rushed them, grabbing the other warrior that stood beside Alistair in it's giant grip. They could only watch as the human was picked up like a doll, shaken in that clenching fist before another punched him repeatedly. Alistair charged with his sword, swiping at its back and legs but the skin was like rough leather. He wasn’t sure how much damage he was even doing, if he was at all. Throwing the poor swordsman to the side, body skidding across the floor in a lifeless lump, it turned its attention to Alistair who luckily enough managed to jump out of the way. The weariness that had settled in his bones had been replaced, now fear and rage were driving his body, reflexes heightened as he took every vital shot he could get.

Between the arrows, sword, and magic, the beast started to falter. The perfect opportunity presenting itself when its massive body stumbled back, throwing its arms wide open. Hue took it, pulling out his dagger and running up its body to stab it right in the eye. Spit sprayed in his face as it roared, thrashing around with pain but he held on to whatever he could, stabbing into the other eye with a sickening squish. No longer did the beast thrash, instead he could hear the life drain from its throat and crash backwards to the floor. The impact threw him off, rolling him along the smooth stone as blood and spit smeared across his armor and skin. Alistair’s hand grabbed his arm, hoisting him up, panting breaths filling the now silent room before they suddenly remembered why they were even there.

“The beacon!” Both came to the same thought and rushed over, Alistair grabbing the nearby torch and throwing it into the fireplace. Instantly the fire grew and grew, spewing up the chute in a bright column before their very eyes. Thank the gods, they had made it...somehow and now Loghain’s army could move in to turn the tide.

Their muscles only had mere moments to relax before the door burst open but instead of soldiers, darkspawn flooded into the room in a massive hoard. Arrows flew at them, catching them both off guard and he cried out in pain when one embedded itself into his shoulder. Fighting it, he shot off a few of his own but there were too many...too much stamina lost as his muscles felt like liquid at this point. Alistair’s body being thrown across the room distracted him, another arrow sinking into his flesh. Struggle as he might, he ended up on his back, vision blurring, his companion's name a cracked whisper on his lips. Hand reaching out, fingers shakingly clawing at the cool stone. The unholy cacophony of growls and metal sliding against metal drummed through his brain, threatening to swallow him whole. A roar vibrated through his very being...another monster? He was fading too fast to even know, only one thought screaming in his mind through all the noise.

Creators, please don’t let another friend die.

#Dragon Age Origins #Dragon Age #Alistair Theirin #warden mahariel #fanfic #original character #OC #Hue

2 notes · View notes

itskimtaehyung · 5 years ago

Text

Blindspot

Who is he? Who is the man with no eyes?

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader (non romantic)

Genre: Supernatural Horror, Drama

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: Everywhere you turn, he’s there, just barely on the edge of your vision. No one else seems to see him. He outside on the street, in your house, in your room. Yet, no matter how hard you try, you’re unable to look at him directly.

Warnings: mentions of death and blood

A/N: if y’all dont already think i’m the worst procrastinator ever i’ll have you know that i started this fic in august of 2018 and meant to finish it for halloween of 2018 but i couldn’t even finish it in time for halloween of 2019 bc im trash

Two children, a boy and a girl, played along the rocks at the waterfront. It was overcast today, as it usually was, and a dense fog rolled over the bay toward the shore. They scuttled along, chasing crabs, attempting to grab the tiny, orange critters as they disappeared into the water. Their mother watched from a bench a few feet away.

“Be careful, loves. We can’t afford to lose anymore people here.”

The children nodded understandingly and proceeded with their activity. That is, when the eldest, the sister, spotted something strange amongst the jagged rocks that jutted out from the mellow tides.

“Mommy! What’s that?”

The mother stood up from the bench and calmly strolled over to her daughter. She peered down at the rocks, and saw the strange figure that was jammed between them.

The mother let out a sigh. “That’s Stephanie. Do you remember her? She baked brownies for the bake sale last month.”

The son nodded. “I thought she went missing last week.”

“She did. This is where the people who go missing sometimes end up. Come on, children.” She held out both her hands and each child took one. “You two walk on home while I go tell Sheriff Strazzeri.”

Emerald Bay was too small for a proper sheriff’s department, or a crime scene investigation unit. It was just Sheriff Strazzeri, passionate about the law, and his son, Will, who attended the town’s subpar, probably not accredited by any other town’s standards, medical school. Together they investigated all the weird things that happen in this tiny town.

People always say there’s nothing to do in Emerald Bay. They’re pretty much right. It’s a small coastal town, with a population of about four hundred and declining. On the east side of Emerald Bay is the Marina, lined with abandoned boats that smell of rotting fish and are covered with ancient, dried-up barnacles. On the west side is your ticket out: a dirt road that leads into the forest, a thick, dense barrier of emerald painted evergreens. That’s where the town gets its name. And past the forest is the farmland, and past the farmland is the big city. So why don’t people leave Emerald Bay? Why don’t they abandon it completely?

The answer? No one ever makes it out of the forest alive.

Everytime someone packs their bags and tries to leave Emerald Bay, something prevents them from truly leaving. You remember when you were young, maybe three or four years old, your neighbor, Ben, decided he had enough of the monotony of this town, and got in his car and started driving. You thought he was off to a bigger and better life, somewhere out in the big city, but three days later, they found his car broken down on the road in the forest, with his dead body rotting inside.

A few years before that, a woman who had been widowed, thought it was too difficult living in the house she had shared with her husband. She didn’t even take her things. She just started walking. She wandered into the forest, and a few days later, her body was found floating in between the boats at the Marina. In the pocket of her yellow raincoat was a piece of paper, surprisingly undamaged. On it was a drawing, done in what appeared to be blood. It looked like it was drawn by a toddler, simple and cartoonish. It was of a man, or rather a stick figure, with something over his eyes. Below the drawing were two words: SAVE ME.

This has been going on for as long as anyone can remember. Residents have tried to explain this strange phenomenon, sometimes with outlandish theories. But the most common theory, and what you think is the most plausible one, sprang from the drawing found in the widow’s pocket.

Many think that she was trying to warn us. That she drew it in a haste before she died. Many think that there is a man in the forest. One that wears a piece of cloth over his eyes. One that takes the lives of anyone who wanders into his home.

Supposedly he lives in the forest alone. Deep into the dark woods, making himself known only at night. His skin and his hair are an ashy gray, and he is said to glow under a full moon. But the most distinguishing thing about him is he always wears a black blindfold. Why? Because he is blind. Because he is the man with no eyes.

You have always been interested in this kind of stuff. The spooky, the scary, the unsettling. Slenderman theories completely consumed you in grade school. So did werewolves, ghosts, and all things supernatural. You’ve always managed to prove them all as myths. Except this one.

You had almost forgotten about the man in the forest until last week.

Mark was a well beloved citizen of Emerald Bay. You had been in school with him your whole life. He was so incredibly smart and gifted. Everyone thought he would become mayor one day or something. That is, until a couple of weeks ago, when he went missing.

His family said he went to buy milk from the grocery store and he never returned. All of Emerald Bay were on the lookout, although there aren’t very many places to hide in such a small town. He had no reason to run away either. His parents were very loving, and his friends were supportive. No one ever imagined that he would do such a thing.

A week after Mark went missing, his body is found at the edge of the forest. There’s no sign of injury, and he wasn’t gone long enough to die from thirst or starvation. Will can’t find anything wrong with him. He can’t even determine when Mark had died.

As an ordinary citizen, you don’t have access to many of the details surrounding Mark’s death. All the information you get is from what they print in the local newspaper, and you know those things never tell the whole story. You began volunteering at the local library a few months back, hoping to gain more access to the towns archives, but there are so many newspapers and journals that it quickly became overwhelming, and you put a pause on poring through them. However, being the urban legend enthusiast you are, you want to know more, and the only way to get information is to dig it up yourself.

That’s why you waited until tonight, the night of the first full moon since they discovered Mark’s body. You equip yourself with a flashlight, pepper spray, and a sledge hammer (you know, just in case). You’ve never hunted this kind of creature before, so you don’t know what kind of equipment you would need. It’s stupid to go out into the forest alone, especially on the night of a full moon, but you don’t know anyone stupid enough to agree to go with you.

The streets are dead, as they are every night, when you pull your car up to the edge of the forest. You can see the full moon peeking through the branches of the trees, round and luminous.

You must go on foot from here. The roads in the forest are bumpy and jagged from the tree roots breaking through the asphalt. You would bust a tire within seconds of entering.

The chilly sea breeze nips at your skin when you exit your car. You pop open your trunk and grab your hunting supplies: An EMF meter you built yourself, your sledge hammer for defense, holy water blessed by Reverend Kang, some dried sage, and a wooden stake because vampires aren’t real but you never know, right?

You close the trunk and step away from your car. The breeze seems to get stronger as you walk toward the forest, almost as if it’s pulling you into it. You let it lure you in amongst the trees. You follow it until you can’t see your car behind you anymore, and still you continue on. You make your way around a large tree and then stop dead in your tracks. In front of you is a figure, glowing so brightly that you can’t discern any actual shapes. You just know that it is vaguely human.

“Y/N.” The sound echoes in your ears. The voice is melodic, calming, unlike anything you’ve heard before.

You struggle to catch your breath. “H-how do you know my name?”

“I know everything.” The figure lifts its hand up and beckons you. “Come closer.”

You can feel your limbs wanting to move on their own. You try to resist it and stand your ground. You don’t want to go near him. You want to stay a safe distance away, but he’s too strong, and he pulls you closer to him. Soon, the two of you are face to face, and you can make out his features. His hair glows silver, and his icy white skin contrasts starkly with the black blindfold that covers his eyes. He radiates a strange energy, one that you’ve never experienced before. It’s cold, yet warm at the same time. Goosebumps prickle on your skin, yet your body feels feverish. Your chest feels tight as you struggle to fill your lungs with air.

“W-what are you?”

He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I am ancient. I am the only one of my kind, therefore I don’t have a name. But you may call me Jimin.”

“Jimin,” you mutter in awe. You have so many questions for this strange creature. You never thought you’d actually find him, and now that you have, you must make the most of it. “There are so many things I want to know. Why do you take people? Why do you kill the residents of Emerald Bay?”

“I simply call to them. It is their choice whether they answer or not.”

“Are you calling me to right now?”

“Yes.” Jimin furrows his brows in confusion. “But you seem to be resisting my charm.”

“I’m not here to be your next victim.”

“Then why are you here?”

“LIke I said before. To find out why you take people, why you kill them.”

“But that’s not the only reason. The people who come here are unhappy. They want more from Emerald Bay. No one wanders into the forest, no matter how curious, unless they don’t mind being taken.”

“That’s not true,” you refute.

“Isn’t it? Think about everyone who has wandered in here. Think about your own self.”

You open your mouth to speak, to tell him he’s wrong. But with the blink of an eye he’s gone.

You drive home dejectedly. Yes, you found Jimin, but now you have more questions than answers. What is he? Why does he kill people? How does he do it?

You get farther and farther away from the forest. It’s nearly morning and the AM fog is starting to roll in from the ocean, coating the town in a thick blanket of gray. It’s so thick, you can barely see the block ahead of you. Your eyes momentarily wander away from the road to check your mirrors. Your tires screech as you suddenly slam on the brakes. You rub your eyes and blink. You could have sworn you just saw something in your back seat. And you’re almost positive that something was Jimin. But as you glance back up at your rear view, there’s no one there. It’s just your empty back seat and the eerie fog behind you.

You tell yourself that you’re just seeing things. You didn’t get any sleep last night and you’re starting to hallucinate.

When you get home, you’re so exhausted that you immediately collapse onto your bed and fall asleep. If you dream that night, you don’t remember any of them.

You sleep until you can’t anymore, and you lay in bed until your body aches. It screams at you to get up, and so you do, making your way to the bathroom to wash your face.

You splash the cool water over your skin, rinsing off the cleanser that still clings to the area around your eyes. Afterward, you use a towel to pat your skin dry and take a look in the mirror. You freeze and nearly drop the towel. Over your shoulder, you can see Jimin standing, watching but not watching.

You whip around but there’s nothing there. When you look back in the mirror, he’s nowhere to be seen. You got plenty of sleep this morning, so there’s no reason for you to be seeing things. But what else could possibly explain this?

Something doesn’t feel right.

As hard as you try, you can’t bring your eyes to open. You can sense it. You can feel something in your room. You sense an unmistakable presence at the foot of your bed. It feels, evil, demonic, malevolent.

You gasp for air, but the blankets seem to suffocate you. You want to push them off so you can breathe, but you’re paralyzed. Your heart races as you try to will yourself to open your eyes, to take a deep breath, anything.

As quick as it comes, the feeling is gone. Your heart is beating out of your chest. You wiggle your toes to see if you can move again, but you’re too scared to open your eyes. Instead, you bury yourself deeper beneath your covers and try to fall asleep, but you can’t shake the feeling that something truly evil was just in your room.

When you finally succumb to slumber, you dream of the forest that night.

You’re running. The brisk air and the smell of pine nip at your nostrils. Your lungs burn, and no matter how hard you push yourself, you can’t seem to move faster than a crawl. You feel something chasing you, and you’re trying to get away. You’re trying to get back to the main road where you’ve parked your car, but the only thing around you is endless forest. Your heart feels as if it’s going to explode.

Faster, faster, you tell yourself. But it’s no use. You can’t go any faster.

You run and run. You don’t see the fallen branch on the ground until your foot catches on it, and you hurdle forward, putting your hands out to break the fall.

But you never hit the ground, because the panic jolts you awake.

This time you’re able to open your eyes, and it’s daylight out. Your clock says 7:03, twelve minutes before the alarm is supposed to go off and you have to get ready for school.

When you sit up your brain pounds with a massive migraine that leaves you a bit nauseous. You wash your face in the sink like you do every morning, but today, you don’t see Jimin in the reflection with you. You bend over to rinse the cleanser off your face, and when you stand back up straight, you’re hit with a sudden wave a dizziness. Bile makes its way up your throat and you heave violently into the sink until it’s filled with thick, dark blood.

When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you see your mouth covered in red. You stumble back as a high pitched scream rings through your ears.

Your mom rushes up the stairs and sticks her head in to the bathroom. “Is everything alright? Why did you scream?”

You turn to face her. Can’t she see that your mouth is covered in blood? She’s not looking at you in horror, her concerned expression does not waver. When you glance back in the mirror, there’s no blood to be seen, and the sink is spotless as well.

“Ye-yeah, Mom. I just…” you wrack your brain for an excuse, “thought I saw a spider. That’s all. Everything is fine.” But you can still taste the metallic tang on your tongue.

When she leaves you look back in the mirror and Jimin stands in her place. You can feel his gaze piercing through the cloth over his eyes.

With the blink of an eye he’s gone.

Your life goes on like this for days, weeks. Everywhere you turn, he’s there, just barely on the edge of your vision. No one else seems to see him. He outside on the street, in your house, in your room. Yet, no matter how hard you try, you’re unable to look at him directly. You can’t sleep. You can barely eat. You can’t focus.

You can’t stand it anymore. You need answers.

The Emerald Bay Library is old, much like all the other buildings in Emerald Bay. It’s been here for longer than even the oldest residents of the town can remember. Its shelves are filled mostly with novels from the previous century. No one knows where they came from. They seemingly just manifested one day. It’s part of the mystery of how this town came into existence.

After your volunteer shift, you tell Head Librarian Kim that you’re going to stay behind to do some research for a class project. He hands you the keys and tells you to lock up when you’re done without questioning you any further. The second he leaves, you head a computer to search the town archives. You look for journals, newspaper articles, anything that documents strange and inexplicable happenings. You write down some promising pieces along with their call number and set off to find them.

When you turn the corner to head down one of the aisles, you can feel him. You look around you, seeing if you can find him lurking in the shadows. You don’t see anything, but his presence, the heaviness in the air, this thick, eerie feeling, is unmistakable.

Shrugging it off, you scan the bookshelf for what you’re looking for. You trace your fingers over it’s spine, almost as old as the town itself.

The Mystery and Lore of Emerald Bay

You pluck the book from the shelf. It’s dusty, like it hadn't been touched in years.

You wander over to the tables that sit in between the shelves and take a seat. The book’s leathery cover feels dry beneath your fingers. Stiff and crusty. Dust flies up toward your face as you open the book and flip through its yellowed pages, filled with handwritten and hand drawn accounts of unexplained phenomena that once sent the town into panic.

The first is the chupacabra, from the time the town’s cattle were disappearing. Turns out it was just a resident who didn’t want to pay for beef at the local butcher shop and decided to take and slaughter them for himself.

Then the Emerald Bay Monster, which was quickly determined to merely be driftwood.

Along with a few other things that have since been solved by modern science. Things like poisonous mushrooms, lightning bugs, and fairy rings.

Finally, at the end of the book, you find what you’re looking for.

The Man with No Eyes

You skim through the introduction and description of Jimin, then some eye witness accounts written by former residents of Emerald Bay, long dead from old age or maybe even something more sinister. Then you find what you’re looking for.

Not much is known about this mysterious man, only that he kills. Some say that he is both immortal and invulnerable, making him impervious to any harm one might attempt to inflict upon him. However, there are rumors from the ancient times about this man. There have been no records of whether anyone has actually attempted these methods, however, the creature still stands, which is a testament to something. If one truly wants to know, legend has it that the only way to kill him is–

You’re about to turn the page only to find that the subsequent pages have been ripped out, and on the back cover, written in what appears to be blood, are the words:

YOU CAN’T KILL ME

You drop the book as soon as you see it.

You want to yell at him, to scream. But it’s hard to talk to something you can’t face directly. “What do you want? Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“I will be here until you give into me.”

You whip your head around, only to be met with dusty bookshelves and darkness.

“Is this how you got the others to do it? By messing with their heads? Come out where I can see you!”

That’s when the bright, glowing figure steps out from the shadows and stands in front of you. His face is expressionless as he stares at you through the pitch black blindfold.

“Do you think they just happened to go to the forest, just because you wanted to?” Jimin asks. “No, that was me, calling to them. And now I am calling to you. I have come to claim you. It is your time.”

You shake your head and stand your ground.

“Come to me,” he beckons.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I will choose someone else,” he answers plainly.

“I don’t want someone else to die but I don’t want to die either!”

”Then don’t. You don’t have to die. Just come to me.”

“Why don’t you just leave me alone? Why don’t you leave all of us alone?”

“It’s not in my nature. My species feeds off of your energy, your sadness.”

“And if we don’t give it to you, you die?”

Jimin chuckles. “No, you can’t kill me that easily. I simply get angrier, more violent until I get what I want.”

When he smiles, you can see his teeth. Sharp, jagged. There are rows of them, like shark teeth. Your heart pounds in your chest. You take a step back, but Jimin is quick to step toward you. You take another step, but the backs of your legs hit the table. You quickly dart your eyes around the room, searching for an exit route. There are tables, chairs, and shelves in the way. The main entrance is on the other side of the library, and Jimin stands in the way of the emergency door.

“There’s nowhere for you to run, Y/N. Because as fast as you run, I will always be faster.”

“What happens when I give in?”

“You’ll find out.”

He removes his blindfold to reveal the brightest, most blinding light you have ever seen.

The same woman watches as her children play along the shore. a light breeze blows a crumpled piece of paper to her feet. she picks it up and reads it, sighing.

MISSING PERSON Y/N Along with a photo your mom took of you two years ago.

You’ve been missing for over two months now. Usually the bodies turn up within a couple of weeks. No one was brave enough to go into the forest to look for you. Not even Officer Strazzeri. Not even your mother.

Maybe you weren’t taken. Maybe you were a lucky one. Maybe you were actually able to escape Emerald Bay onto bigger and better things.

#networkbangtan #armiesnet #btswriters #bts writing squad #busanboysnet #park jimin #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin #my writing #mine

23 notes · View notes

huphilpuffs · 5 years ago

Text

flares

chapter: 31/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 4k (103k total) rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: As always, immense thanks to @obsessivelymoody for beta’ing!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

They settle into bed that night with no intention of going to sleep.

Dan’s laptop is open, resting on his thighs. Phil propped up two pillows against the wall for him to lean against, his back and neck still tender from the pressure point test Dr. Kissel performed. The duvet is draped across his lap, his toes sticking out from the end of it.

Phil stares at the screen over his shoulder. Dan can feel the warm puffs of air from his breathing against his skin.

He types fibro mialgia into Google.

Its response is Did you mean: Fibromyalgia, just enough to have a quiet breath rumbling between Dan’s ribs.

He clicks on the first link, a webpage from the Mayo Clinic. He’s pretty sure that’s in America somewhere. It probably doesn’t much matter. The top of the page tells him it’s believed to amplify painful sensations by changing the way the brain processes pain. He thinks that’s what Dr. Kissel said.

Dan’s not entirely sure what fucked up pain processing is supposed to feel like, but he thinks this is probably it.

The next paragraph is about trauma, about how it sometimes triggers fibromyalgia. Dan tries not to let the fact that he doesn’t relate make his insides twist too much.

Phil must be able to tell, because he leans in close and whispers, “It says ‘sometimes’.”

The one after that includes a list of other conditions that may be related. Dan reads it once, twice, three times before his gaze lingers on the last two. His stomach goes tight. He doesn’t realize his fingertip’s tapping his computer until Phil reaches over to grab it, snagging one of Dan’s hands and drawing it into his lap.

He doesn’t ask what Dan’s staring at. It’s probably obvious.

Dan’s spent years trying to convince himself he definitely wasn’t depressed, that definitely wasn’t his problem, and now it’s splashed across the page again in the clearest of sans serif fonts. Dr. Kissel didn’t mention that one. He wonders how much of his chart she’s read, if she knew it would make him feel like this.

He almost shuts the laptop and gives up on research. Maybe he doesn’t want to know after all.

But then Phil reaches over and scrolls down for him, leaving the list of symptoms lighting up Dan’s screen.

Everything after that is overwhelming in a different way. There’s a lot of symptoms. A lot of possible treatments. Dan’s never considered most of them. Massage therapy sounds incredibly unpleasant. Acupuncture, too. Getting enough sleep sounds so implausible that Dan actually laughs, too loud, too sharp.

The next page on Google is a lot of the same. So is the third, and the fourth.

Exercise is mentioned a lot. Dan’s joints ache at just the thought of trying to go out for a run, at the memory of how painful it was just to walk to class back at uni, of how sick he used to feel after gym class back in school.

There’s a lot they don’t know about fibromyalgia, he learns. There’s no cure, no definitive answer on why things hurt. There’s a bunch of studies that show little abnormalities that might cause it but none of them agree and none are conclusive and Dan doesn’t much care.

He knows, finally. And there’s some stuff they do know.

It’s not fatal. It’s never fatal. Dan reads that bit out loud, because Phil’s sitting next to him, gaze tripping across the page just a bit slower than Dan’s. Dr. Kissel already told them that more than once. The extra layer of reassurance makes Phil lean in close, his body pressed against Dan’s side.

He dusts a kiss to Dan’s bare shoulder, soft, loving.

There was a time when Dan might have been terrified by the prospect of a lifelong condition with no cure and no potential to be let out of his misery. It’s still scary now, not knowing what to expect for any of his future. But giving this up isn’t really an option anymore.

Phil lets go of his hand to wrap his arm around Dan’s shoulders instead, leaning in close so his head rests right above Dan’s collarbone.

“I’m glad you have an answer,” he says. His voice has gone low and gravelly.

He sounds tired. And he has to work in the morning. And Dan suddenly feels bad for keeping him up for so long with a cycle of redundant articles that say the same little bit of information in slightly different ways. He closes his laptop, scrolled only halfway down the page.

“You’re not gonna keep reading?”

“I can read tomorrow,” he says. “Apparently I need to focus on getting enough sleep.”

Phil chuckles. He pulls away just enough slip down the mattress until he’s lying down. Dan tosses the extra pillow onto the floor and rests his laptop precariously on the corner of his bedside table before doing the same. He reaches out, draping his arm across Phil’s stomach, cuddling up against his side.

He can’t handle the pressure against his back tonight. Phil doesn’t seem to mind.

His palm settles flat against Dan’s ribcage, head dipping down. Dan looks up to meet his mouth in a quick kiss goodnight.

When he pulls away, he’s smiling.

---

Dan dreams of being old that night.

He’s sitting in a mostly empty room with white walls and a sofa. There’s a blanket draped over him and an ice pack sitting uselessly atop his head. It’s just like his life now, except when he looks down, his hands are wrinkled and spotted with age.

He wakes up. The room is still dark, hardly a touch of light filtering through Phil’s curtains. Phil’s still sound asleep, snoring softly.

Dan’s brain is echoing his nan’s complaints about how achy her knees were, the ones he could relate to when he was only fourteen.

He swallows, presses himself tighter against Phil’s side, and stares at the window until he falls back asleep.

---

His chest is tight when he wakes up in the morning.

Phil’s not in bed anymore. There’s a note on Dan’s bedside table telling him Phil’s already gone to work. It has a silly little smiley face drawn in the corner. Dan’s laptop has been moved to sit on the chest of drawers instead, more stable there than where he placed it last night.

He sinks back against his pillow once he’s spotted it. His breath comes out as a sigh, his hand coming up to rub hard at the line of his sternum, as though that will ease the pressure there.

His knees crack when his climbs out of bed. There’s still a tingling, radiating sort of pain where Dr. Kissel pressed against his body, all down his legs and up along his spine. Some of them feel swollen, but when he rubs at the back of his neck, there’s nothing there.

Dan grabs his laptop and changes his pants before moving to the lounge.

He turns to look back before he leaves, hand gripping the door frame to steady him. The duvet is ruppled on both sides, a giant ball of fluff where Dan’s feet were. There’s a pillow on the floor and two pressed close together at the head of the mattress. Dan’s phone charger rests on his bedside table, plugged into nothing.

Something spasms in Dan’s chest.

It takes him a moment to realize it’s anxiety.

---

The kettle is half full of water on the kitchen counter. There’s a smoothie in the fridge with a straw already sticking out of it. Phil left the cereal box out, plastic bag half poking out the top of it, and the cupboard door open overhead. Dan closes it as he sips at his breakfast.

He doesn’t turn the TV on this morning.

He drags his computer onto his lap and opens the article he’d left half read last night. He doesn’t finish it. There’s other things on his mind this morning than symptom lists he’s already read and collections of advice that only seems half effective.

Working with fibromyalgia, is what he types into Google today.

The first link is to a WebMD article. Dan clicks it without thinking much.

People can work with this, is the first thing Dan learns. It makes his chest feel funny, something half relief and half not blooming there. Keep working, is what the article says, and Dan tries not to think about the day he handed his resignation to Sue, body aching so much just getting there had been a hassle.

He fails.

He thinks about it for so long that his vision goes out of focus, the article sliding into double. It snaps back into place when he blinks and scrolls down to the next part, too many lists of too many questions to address way too many problems.

The advice is … a lot. It’s flexible work hours and working from home, extra equipment at work and less tasks. It’s finding a job that’s not too stressful and lets you sleep in, and one where you don’t need to do manual labour but can also survive when your brain isn’t working right.

Right in the middle of it, there’s an ad for some pill that starts with, Does your penis curve when erect?

Dan laughs. It’s only then that he realizes his throat’s gone tight and his eyes are stinging. His fingers are shaking over the keyboard when he jams the down arrow to read the rest of the page. It takes him too many tries to stay steady enough to click the arrow bringing him to the next one.

Can I get disability with fibromyalgia? is its header.

Dan almost forgets how to breathe. He doesn’t read it. He doesn’t go back to Google. He closes Chrome entirely and slams his laptop shut and tells himself it’s because the advice was about American law and not because his stomach suddenly really doesn’t like the smoothie Phil made more him.

A tear rolls down his cheek.

He stares at the blank TV screen until it falls off the bottom of his chin.

---

The lounge is full of both their stuff.

There’s a PlayStation and a Wii on the TV cabinet, above neat shelves lined with a shared collection of games. There’s two DS chargers plugged into the wall. There’s a stack of DVDs by the door to the balcony, Dan’s piled on top of Phil’s from when he first moved in.

The blanket Phil got him is draped over the sofa. Decorations he had before Dan moved in are all laid out on the furniture and hanging on the walls. There’s a throw pillow that used to live on the sofa that now sits in the corner of the room.

Dan thinks too much about how none of his A-levels or GCSCs will ever be enough to get him a job that would give him any of the things on WebMD’s list.

And then even more about all the horror stories he’s heard about people living on benefits.

And then, once his chest hurts and pressure is welling at his temples, about how he doesn’t really have a choice but to need one of them if his body’s not going to be fixed.

It’s not. Dan expected that. He tries not to care. Part of him doesn’t.

But the other part of him reminds him that Phil’s parents are still paying his part of the rent, echoes his mum’s warnings about leeching off Phil until tears are welling in his eyes once again. It pictures the people back in Wokingham who told him he’d never go anywhere if Dan didn’t learn to deal with a little bit of pain.

His brain flashes a quick image of being back there.

He reaches for his phone, just to distract himself. He ends up texting Taylor instead.

Dan: can you come over? i have news

Taylor: already on my way out the door

---

“You look less shit today,” is what she says when she opens the door. There’s a smile on her face, wavering just enough to let Dan know it’s her attempt to act normal.

He doesn’t feel less shit. The post-appointment high has settled into something just as heavy and insecure feeling as before, just tainted with different memories, weighted with different fears.

“Yeah,” he says, “Well, stuff happened.”

He leads her to the lounge without explaining first. His body is achy and she knows he needs to be sitting down. When she settles down next to him, it’s with her whole body turned towards him, legs tucked under her and arm draped across the back of the cushions, like she’s waiting for something.

She doesn’t ask for it.

Dan takes a moment to steady his breath before saying, “I’m not dying.”

She chuckles, breathy and uncertain. “That’s good,” she says. “You better think it’s good.”

There was a day, back in at uni, when she’d tossed her textbook aside and said killing me would be less painful. And Dan, safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t try to send him to a therapist, lest the advice be turned back on her, had admitted sometimes I wish I was dying just so I’d know the pain would end.

“It’s good,” says Dan. He turns towards her, offering a smile that actually feels genuine. “I have a diagnosis.”

“Oh!” She bounces on her knees. “And?”

“It’s fibromyalgia.”

She nods, just once, brows going a little furrowed. “Is it bad that I don’t know what that means?”

Dan laughs. “Neither did I,” he says. “I reckon most scientists don't either, if Google is a reliable source.”

“Sounds accurate, if my quarter of a bio degree is anything to go off,” says Taylor. A smile quirks at the corners of her mouth.

Dan’s not sure he’s ever seen her smiling when talking about those classes. It’s nice.

“Yeah, most of my old doctors confirm the theory,” he says, smiling too. “Dr. Kissel’s actually good, though.”

“Yeah?” says Taylor. “And this fibromyalgia thing, is it good?”

He shrugs. The anxiety from before burns in his chest again. His head tilts back against the sofa, and he watches Taylor’s brows furrow in concern.

“Probably shouldn’t be. The symptoms are royal shit and there’s no cure and I don’t really know where to go from here,” he admits. “But having an answer? That’s good.”

A smile spreads slowly across her face, close-lipped and content. Dan watches her eyes flick between both of his, her head falling to rest against her open palm as she stares.

“I’m not gonna pretend to understand,” she says. “My diagnosis– I knew what was wrong, I just didn’t want to admit it, you know?”

Dan nods. He wonders if that’s one of the things she learned about herself in therapy, wonders how he never really saw it that way. Maybe because he couldn’t relate. He never felt like he knew what was wrong with him. Until now.

His heart clenches at that, eyes falling closed against the rush of anxiety-tainted relief that floods the already too-full space between his ribs.

Taylor reaches over, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her voice is quiet as a whisper when she says, “I’m so happy for you.”

He laughs. It comes out as a puff of air that sounds half like a sob, but it’s the best he can muster without actually breaking into tears.

She must be able to tell, because she pulls away and settles back against the sofa. Dan counts his breath for a moment afterwards, until the steady rise and fall of his chest feels less fragile. When he opens his eyes again, Taylor’s staring up at the ceiling with him, lips still quirked up.

“You get to join me in the arduous process that is recovery now, you know,” she says. “Welcome to the dark side.”

Dan smiles. “Shouldn’t it be the brighter side?”

“Hush,” she turns to him. Her smile’s reaching her eyes, like it rarely used to before. “I’ve been rehearsing that in my head for the last, like, two minutes, let me have this.”

When Dan laughs that time, it actually feels genuine.

---

Taylor stays for dinner. Phil invited her.

They eat around the coffee table. Taylor lets Phil have his usual spot next to Dan with a joke about how she’s pretty sure it’s morphed to their spines by now, and drags over a chair from the dining table instead. She tells Phil all about her new courses as they eat, a grin wide on both their faces.

Afterwards, they play a round of Mario Kart, because they can. Dan wins. Taylor comes in second this time, and Phil complains about how she’s never allowed to play with them again because, even if he can’t beat Dan, he can beat the computers. Usually.

Dan teases him with that last bit. He points out how often Phil ends up stuck in the item clusterfuck and, when he pouts in response, presses a quick kiss to his cheek. Because he can.

It feels normal. As normal as it can when, a few months ago, he and Taylor were playing this game on their DS’, miserable in Dan’s uni bedroom.

So, not normal at all.

Taylor’s laughs so much happy tears leak from the corners of her eyes. Dan has an answer for why his chest aches when he laughs too much. Phil reaches around him, and flattens a hand against Dan’s ribs when his breath catches around an exhale.

He whispers a quiet one, two, three, against the round of Dan’s shoulder.

Dan leans his head back against the cushions again, and enjoys the company of the two people who will give him a second to steady the broken parts of his body without making him feel bad.

When he looks back up, he smirks at them both, and starts a round of Rainbow Road without warning.

---

The anxiety starts to come back when darkness falls.

Phil leads him to the bedroom without a word. Taylor’s just left, the sky’s just starting to go dark. It’s been a long time since they last sat up and watched a movie late into the night, Dan realizes, but he doesn’t much mind. It means he gets to wrap himself in cozy blankets and rest his head on a fluffed up pillow and feel Phil’s arms around him.

He gets to reach up and chase away the tedium of the day with soft kisses pressed to Phil’s lips.

Tonight, though, he doesn’t. His mind is too preoccupied by the time he slips under the covers. He stares up at the ceiling and tries not to think of all the long nights he spent with just his pain and his questions to keep him company. Days when the brush of his duvet was too much against his skin, when his pillow pressed too much against the back of his neck.

It’s because there’s tender points there. Dan knows that now.

It doesn’t feel like he should.

He reaches out into the space between them and catches Phil’s hand over the mattress, squeezing once.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

“‘Course,” says Phil. He rolls over, so he’s curled up on his side facing Dan, head resting against the crook of his elbow.

Dan doesn’t look back at him. He feels weird when he asks, “You know that thing you made me do the other day? To get my thoughts out of my head? With my webcam?”

“Yeah,” says Phil. “Why?”

Dan swallows. Phil must be able to hear it, because he squeezes Dan’s hand, just for a second.

“Would you find it weird if I wanted to do it again?”

“Why would I find that weird?” asks Phil. He lets go of Dan’s hand, only to reach out and clumsily search for his fringe in the darkness. He swipes some curls away from his eyes. “I told you I used to do it, didn’t I?”

Dan shrugs. It’s awkward, with his pillow tucked right above his shoulders. “Yeah. Just feels weird.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to, if it helps,” says Phil. “Do you want me to set it up for you?”

Dan considers it. There’s comfort in the idea, a weird kind that soothes his mind into thinking Phil actually can’t find it weird if he’s willing to help Dan do it. But it’s getting late, late enough that Dan’s pretty sure if he peeked outside he could see the the flashing trails of airplanes over the city, and Phil worked all day.

“I think I can manage,” he says. “Pretty sure I haven’t forgotten how to use my laptop just yet.”

Phil laughs. His hand trails across Dan’s chest as he slips out of bed. When Dan turns to look back from the doorframe, the hallway light lets him see just enough to tell that Phil’s still curled up on his side, smiling.

---

He sets his laptop up on his pillows, with the grainy window of his webcam app filling the screen.

The room stays silent for long seconds after he hits record. Dan adjusts his hair, all curly in the way he hates but can never spare the energy to fix. He fidgets around on his bed until his too-bony knees are out of shot and you can see the waistline of his pants so he doesn’t look naked.

Part of him wants to laugh at himself. It doesn’t matter. No one will ever see this. Dan doesn’t even think he’ll ever look back at it.

He takes a deep breath, brings his fingers to his head, and says, “Hello internet,” just like last time.

And then he rants into the camera until he’s lost track of what he’s already said and isn’t sure any of it is making sense and the anxiety in his brain fades into some sort of mental fatigue. He’s lying down on his side because he lost the energy to sit up and his laptop clock is telling him it’s been over half an hour.

His hands are shaking when he reaches over to shut the recording off. Dan’s not sure when that started.

He’s not sure about a lot of things, he realizes.

Dan rolls onto his back, and stares up a ceiling that’s just like Phil’s but feels way less familiar until he musters the energy to hold his body upright again.

---

Phil’s still awake when Dan goes back to their room.

He looks up from his phone as Dan closes the door behind him and walks over to crawl into bed. He pulls the duvet over his body, right up to his chin, and curls up on his side. There’s a headache welling in his temples, and a heaviness lingering in his chest.

“Were you listening?” he whispers.

“No,” says Phil. He reaches behind him to set his phone down, sending the room dark, and then reaches out to tuck a strand of Dan’s hair behind his ear. “I don’t want to intrude.”

Dan hums. His eyes drift closed as Phil’s thumb traces small circles on his cheek.

Part of him wishes Phil had overheard, so he could soothe Dan’s anxieties without him needing to ask any scary questions. Most of him just wants to hold Phil close and pretend he isn’t suddenly questioning the stability of his entire fucking life, of all the wonderful things in it.

So he does. He grabs Phil’s hand, and dusts a soft kiss to his palm, and then presses closer until Phil’s arms are wrapped all the way around him, holding him tucked against his shoulder in an awkward horizontal hug.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Phil doesn’t respond with words. He just brushes a kiss to the top of Dan’s head and then, when Dan looks up, a second to his lips.

And a third and a fourth and a fifth until they actually settle in to sleep.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #flares #dan and phil #callie writes words

41 notes · View notes

scientificphilosopher · 6 years ago

Text

Mental Health and General Life Advice Gained Over the Years

Here is a list of some things I’ve learned over the years that have, I think, helped me live a better life

Be flexible in my narrative. When I say things like ‘I’m just an anxious person,’ or ‘I suck at confrontation,’ then I risk fixing onto this narrative rather than managing it in a healthy way. I become unwilling to recognize instances where I’m not anxious. I ignore opportunities for growth. Instead, I find it better to foster a flexible narrative. I know it’s important to acknowledge, normalize, and even embrace my identities, but I don’t want to mistake an aspect of my identity for my identity wholesale. I’m not my anxiety. Rather, I struggle with anxiety. I’m not Depression. Rather, depression has had a formative influence on my sense of self. This, too, goes for my social identities. Identities are real, and they have very real impacts on our world and our experience, but they are not everything. To paraphrase James Baldwin, identities are like garments that ought to be worn loosely so that our nakedness—and ability to change—can still be felt.

Steep in my fallibility. The more I’ve learned about my personal fallibility—which is prodigious—the healthier my relationships and general approach to the world has become. Embracing my tendency to be biased and make mistakes has, I hope, fostered a strong sense of humility. Thank goodness, since this world is messy and complex as shit, and we are often—so very, very often—wrong about things. Or at least overly-simplistic. And because things are so goddamn complicated, it can be hard, even impossible, to see nuance. Our limited and parochial natures can lead us to ignore complexity, especially if that complexity doesn’t cast a favorable light on our beliefs about the world. I’ve developed an almost fetishistic obsession with learning about cognitive biases and the seemingly infinite number of ways my psychology leads me astray (as evidenced by the persistent string of posts I’ve made on it, like here, here, here, here, and here). Paradoxically, fully embracing and seeking out my fallibility has led me to have a much deeper understanding of the world around me. As Simone de Beauvoir says, ‘It is in the knowledge of the genuine conditions of our life that we must draw our strength to live and our reason for acting.’ My genuine condition is that of a mistake-prone, biased, and mercurial ape. (And that’s pretty cool.)

Get in touch with the messiness. Why is it important to have a flexible narrative and to embrace our fallibility? Because shit’s complex! Incredibly, intensely, bone-chillingly, awe-inspiringly complex. Our brains have evolved as taxonomy machines where we carve up the world and separate everything into nice and neat little boxes. If only things could be so simple. As it so happens, though, the world is, as William James wrote, ‘multitudinous beyond imagination, tangled, muddy, painful and perplexed.’ I have found it to be very helpful to reflect on the complexity of everything, even the seemingly simple and straightforward.

Mindfulness exercises. ‘Mindfulness’ has, like ‘empathy,’ become a pop-psych buzzword over the last several years. This is partly because mindfulness is a very potent tool. It can fundamentally alter our day-to-day existence. There is no shortage of ancient schools of wisdom that have prescribed mindfulness as key to a meaningful existence. I’m partial to David Foster Wallace’s construction of mindfulness when he said that it is the true aim of a good education. With mindfulness we cultivate the power to choose where to focus our mental energies, to choose what has meaning and what does not. With practice, ‘it will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down.’ In short, continued Wallace, ‘you get to decide what to worship.’

Thinking about thankfulness. Gratitude exercises are a form of mindfulness I’ve found to be especially beneficial. When I have the mental energy to do so, I try to get creative about my gratitude. I try to find gratitude in the mundane, the trivial, the invisible. It’s much too easy to be grateful for grand adventures and emotionally rewarding escapades. It can be much more difficult—but equally meaningful—to find gratitude in the humdrum, or to appreciate the infinite number of shitty things that didn’t happen to me, or to embrace the vast confluence of luck that has led me to this single moment of unadorned contentedness. This is another subject I’ve written about to a near-obnoxious extent (see some here, here, here, here, and here). I sometimes feel reservations recommending gratitude exercises, since, when things are really awful, as they so often are, it can feel patronizing and hurtful to have someone tell you that you should just be grateful. This is not my intention. The world is capricious and fucked up, far more often than it should be. This is why I try to access gratitude in the moments where things are okay. I try to seize moments of grace and calm and squeeze out those drops of thankfulness. This can add water to the reservoir that I will need to pull from when I’m thirsty and in pain. In my better moments, then, I can find gratitude, or some semblance or peace or perspective, even when I’m suffering. I can, as Nietschze wrote, ‘throw roses in to the abyss and say: “Here is my thanks to the monster who didn’t succeed in swallowing me alive.”’ And, ultimately, this has helped me get to a place where I can, more often than not, remain in a ‘contented dazzlement of surprise,’ to use Lewis Thomas’ turn of phrase.

Me and everyone I love will die. You know what else I’m grateful for? This breath. And this one. And this one. It’s pretty wild to be alive, to be a self-aware extension of nature itself. What a stunning convergence of necessary circumstance needed to randomly grant me such a privilege. And, just as it came, so it will go. Randomly and inexorably. Death awaits. There is no stopping it. Dark, suffocating, oblivion. This can be scary, of course. But it’s also motivating and contextualizing. Death is not yet here, after all. And that makes each and every breath, smile, kiss, and laugh a priceless cosmic treasure. Indeed, it is precisely because of our limited time that life is so meaningful. Emily Dickinson, as she was wont to do, summed it up eloquently when she said, ‘That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.’

I am not free. At the very least, I am not free in the way I’ve long thought. I am a physical being, subject to the laws of nature, of cause and effect. My thoughts are not authored by some mystical volition or unrestrained willpower. I am thoroughly restrained. I am, indeed, destined to write this sentence from the very moment the cosmos silently but extravagantly whispered itself into life. Some people recoil from this idea, thinking that if our thoughts and actions are determined by external factors, then life is meaningless, and change is futile. These conclusions do not follow. Change is occurring constantly. Our actions have consequences. What we do chaotically reverberates into our surroundings. We are determined, but not fated. We have power, even if it is not free. Instead of catastrophizing and fearing the implications of our lack of freedom, I like to reflect on what this means for how I treat myself and others. A lack of freedom motivates in me a deep sense of compassion. It demands forgiveness for both my mistakes and those of others. None of us asked to be here. We are, as Heidegger said, thrown into existence, awoken to a set of determined circumstance. I am the type of person who has been able to receive an education, to have supportive loved ones, to have a functioning moral compass, a disposition for moving and meaningful emotional experiences, and to want to work to make the world a better place. But I didn’t choose to be or have any of this. This is all luck, luck, luck. From my country of birth to my balding head and hairy back to every last neuronal blast fashioning my inner life—not one atom or twist of the genetic braid was chosen exclusively by me. So, if I find myself as the type of person who doesn’t want to harm others, who doesn’t have unmanageable compulsions, who doesn’t suffer from debilitating isolation, who isn’t disproportionately oppressed by the unconscious machinations of social systems, then this, like everything and all of it, is luck, luck, luck.

Interpersonal stuff. I’ve been very lucky to have had resources in my life, including access to healthcare, a support system, and loved ones who happen to be badass psychologists and counselors. I’ve gleaned invaluable life advice from these dear friends of mine. And thank the cosmos, as such advice has proven to profoundly improve my interpersonal relationships. A couple of quick ones: avoid ‘Shoulding’ on people. When I’m upset and in pain, I typically desire a compassionate and patient ear rather than practical advice. When people come at me with ‘Well, you should do this…’ I often just feel misunderstood or further alienated. Even worse is the ‘Nike Advice,’ where someone says ‘Just do such and such…’ This often feels invalidating because if it were a matter of ‘Just’ doing something, I would’ve already done it. Things are rarely so simple. Similarly, I’ve found it helpful to listen rather than problem-solve. I will commiserate and look for solutions if that is what the person asks for, but usually, I will try to be simply present for the other person, to sit with their pain and offer my compassion and understanding.

Meta-advice. Here’s some advice on my advice: take it with a fat, ballpark-sized soft-pretzel’s worth of salt. I am a philosopher, not a psychologist. I try to be very science- and research-driven, and I’ve been lucky to enough to draw from the hard-earned wisdom of other experts, but, nonetheless, I am not an expert myself. I try to live well. I try to be smart and kind and humble and patient, and I often fail. I am human, all-too-human. This is simply meant to be a sloppily-rendered summary of some helpful pieces of anecdotal advice I’ve gathered on my never-ending journey toward eudaimonia. Nothing more. It is non-exhaustive (this post is, like me after a night at home with a book and a DiGiornio, far too bloated), and I’m sure I’ll regret leaving out many pieces of pivotal information. But the above advice has (so far) been useful in my life. This does not mean it will be helpful for everyone. I hope, at least, that it would not be harmful. Do with it what you will, my friends, and good luck.

#nich #psychology #philosophy #life advic #mental health #eudaimonia #gratitude #mindfulness #death #mortality #long post #text #long

360 notes · View notes